Paled Vermillion
by RoaminGrecoRoman
Summary: Voldemort is not defeated at the Battle of Hogwarts. Many of Harry's comrades have perished and he travels back in time to change things. But can there really be a war without casualties? A ruthless Harry that doesn't flinch. Rewrite of Harry's tale starting with OOTP.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a repost of a story I wrote during October. Anyway, just for some context, I wanted to change Harry's story so that it could be a little grittier, a little darker. There will be some romance ahead for Harry, but it won't be easy. Not great writing...but I hope people enjoy the story. Review if you'd like.**

Harry ran through the forest chased by three men. It was dark, and the moon was hidden behind the grey clouds. There was no light but green flashes of curses that counted the seconds. There was no sound but the crunching of tree branches beneath Harry's feet. George and Percy were in front of him a few minutes ago, but Harry could no longer see the pair. He wondered if his friends had found the deaths that were for all of them long overdue. His eyes darted to the left, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Weasley brothers, as he jumped across a felled tree trunk, and into an empty clearing. He saw two silhouetted figures and a red spell catching up to them.

Pointing his wand at the person on the right, Harry shouted, 'Protego!'.

But it was too late, the Death Eater's aim was true, and another Weasley was gone. A wave of melancholy rushed through Harry (one of his last friends was now dead), and in his foolishly brave manner he turned to face his enemies, trying to protect the last remaining Weasley sibling.

But before he could attack, glaring beams of light erupted from behind him, hitting and illuminating the forest. The trees came to life and surrounded the three men. They fought desperately to escape, expending every iota of energy they had, but were nevertheless crushed by the masses of mahogany. George and Harry were safe.

The last Weasley child slung his brother over his left shoulder, and walked heavily towards the house. Harry jogged over to help with Percy's carcass, and together he and George brought the head boy home for the last time. Minerva stood in front of The Burrow: her eyes puffy and red, and her left arm gripping her wand against her thigh as her face melted into a rueful expression. She stared at the three men returning - particularly at Percy, who was once her favourite student. As George and Harry walked past her, she neither reacted nor followed them into the house. The only sounds outside the Burrow were the whisperings of the autumn breeze.

Harry left George alone, who gently laid Percy on the dining table. There was silence as George stood in front of the corpse. Percy and George weren't close before the war, but battle, the weaver of camaraderie, brought the two brothers close. The death of George's last sibling stunned him; he was never this quiet. Even during the worst moments over the years, George would always look for that silver - lining. Harry watched as George mourned in silence; his tears the only visible symptom of his grief. And although Harry never too much cared for Percy, his seeming indifference was not because he wasn't upset, but because there had been so much loss over the last five years, that Harry felt accustomed to the feeling, and thus found the entire episode prosaic.

His focus on the scene before him caused him to miss the bald man sitting on the floor. Arthur was sat with his robe messily open, his wand on his right with his arms hugging his knees; the Weasley patriarch tilted his head upwards to give Percy and George a single look, before dropping his gaze again, staring aimlessly at the red spotted floor - as if nothing was out of place.

Harry thought about everyone he loved that had died as he accompanied George. Ron had been gone for about a year now, and Hermione for four. It wasn't until they both died that Harry noticed that he had been in complete love with Hermione. But the feeling was always deep in his heart, and bolted tight by his fondness for Ron.

He often revisited his memories of the trio, the frivolous times they spent gossiping and laughing together. He most treasured the times they had sitting carelessly in the common room: Hermione teaching Ron about the time a muggle wandered into Diagon Alley: or Ron, frustrated by the ever terrible performances of the Cannons, reasoning loudly that it was because Quidditch referees were going down the drain that his team was always losing.

One of Harry's most vivid memories of his best friends was when Hermione was teaching him wand movements for a water charm in their sixth year. She was sitting behind Harry, lightly holding his wrist, with her index and middle fingers pushing against the back of his hand, guiding his arm and grip. He could remember her brown hair smelling faintly of lavender; her sharp chin resting on his shoulder, and her warm inhales, and exhales of breath, brushing against his right ear.

'Harry are you listening to me? Our finals are tomorrow. If you don't get this right you'll never become an Auror.' Hermione would admonish, pulling her body away and relinquishing all intimacy. She would cross her arms with a stern but endearing frown etched across her forehead. Thinking about that look would always give Harry a smile. There were so many things he missed about his two friends.

Harry had nightmares of their deaths: Hermione hit by a random curse from Bellatrix; Ron, eaten by Nagini, while Harry was unable to help. But the worst dreams were the ones where they were alive again, where he told them how sorry he was. Those he would wake up from and weep.

'The more happiness one feels, the harsher the pangs of despair that follow', thought Harry.

Harry walked up the stairs to the second floor where McGonagall was sitting on a chair beside the steps.

'Is he still...?'

'Yes. But barely.' Minerva replied with a distracted and hollow tone - there were haunting echoes of George screaming and sobbing downstairs that drew McGonagall's attention away.

Harry felt bad for the witch. She never possessed the spirit of a fighter, and she took every death as if it was her personal responsibility. In his school days she would always be so hardheaded and confident - to the point where she would many times wrongfully punish and ignore Harry; watching her descent into insecurity was painful.

Harry carefully pushed open the wooden door, trying his hardest not to make too much noise, and stepped into the room. 'Albus?', Harry whispered, in that way that best friends would ask during sleepovers to check if each other were awake. The room was quiet and peaceful, especially in comparison to the painful cries that rang reverberantly below. '

Harry, my dear boy. Come in', Dumbledore said weakly, sitting up.

They were in Ron's old room. Fawkes hummed a soothing tune as he perched on top of the bed frame, looking at Harry expectantly, for what reason he did not know. Dumbledore was poisoned while they were destroying Voldemort's final Horcrux, and was reaching the last days of his life - not that it mattered: even though Voldemort was mortal again, the Dark Lord had amassed such a powerful army that he no longer had to fight, hiding behind his thousands of Death Eaters. Dumbledore finally looked his age.

The resistance's prospects of victory were overwhelmingly small, and Harry had little hope for the future; theirs were impossible odds. Even though Harry studied tirelessly under Albus' tutelage, he was never particularly powerful, not even close enough to win against Lord Voldemort. Voldemort had the advantage of years, and despite Harry's growth over the war, he could not match the Dark Lord's seventy years of experience. The only way they had survived for so long a period was because what Harry lacked in power he made up for with cunning and ruthlessness. He wasn't above deviously crushing his enemies with trickery.

'Did you manage to acquire the object we discussed?' Albus asked.

Harry looked down and took out the last Time Turner from his pocket. 'I did, but the bloody thing isn't even functional. And Percy died.'

Dumbledore shook his head and looked saddened. After a moment of silence in respect for Percy, Albus made an attempt at standing up, not succeeding until Harry helped and lifted him by his arm.

'Thank you, Harry.' Dumbledore moved decrepitly to the table on the left side of the room, placing the Time Turner inside the Pensieve with trembling hands.

Harry sat on the chair and looked wistfully at a folded and worn-out photograph of Hermione that he always kept in his pocket. It was of her walking down the stairs to the Yule Ball: she looked absolutely lovely that night. He rubbed the photo with his fingers as Dumbledore began to speak.

'The Pensieve is a time traveller. Its power is its ability to transport a consciousness into the past, granted of course, that there is an appropriate memory.' Dumbledore explained 'Harry, will you please retrieve your memory of the battle at the Department of Mysteries, that fateful day when Sirius passed?'

Harry nodded confusedly and tucked away his photograph. Pointing his wand at his right temple, he shut his eyes and dragged his wand ponderously to the right. A silvery liquid materialised in the process. Harry stood up and walked over to Albus, placing his memory, which was still attached to the end of his wand, into the Pensieve.

'Harry, what I'm about to propose is very dangerous. It will be akin to the dangers Tom Riddle faced when he split his soul', Dumbledore said, as his eyes almost seemed to avoid Harry's gaze. There was a long pause, where Dumbledore appeared to be contemplating whether or not to divulge this information to Harry.

'Albus, cut to the chase, what is it you want me to do?', Harry asked impatiently.

Dumbledore began to speak quickly. 'I want to force your consciousness back into your fifth year.' Harry's mouth widened. 'We cannot win the war in this timeline, I'm afraid. And the deaths have been in vain.' Dumbledore said candidly, as he stared with more confidence into Harry's green eyes.

'We underestimated the effect the fall of the Ministry would have. And in doing so have caused so much horror: family, friends, innocents. This is the only option left.'

Harry was stunned by his words. A way to travel back in time? That's why he needed the Time Turner. But even if the Time Turner was functioning it could only travel back in time by a few day at most.

'But that's not possible.' Harry said in disbelief. 'The Time Turner cannot move people through years.'

'Ah. Yes. It cannot move your physical presence through that much time. But the soul is much lighter, you forget. And we have the Pensieve.' Dumbledore examined the Time Turner. 'As I suspected...' He paused, his fingers wrapped around the artifact.

'The wonderful object isn't entirely broken. Your foray into the Ministry all those years ago merely destroyed its measuring faculties. But we now have your memory as a guide.'

Harry didn't know how to take the news. He was excited, yes, but it sounded too good to be true. 'Albus, are you sending me back in time?', Harry asked, almost stammering in that disbelief one feels when given a Midas touch.

'I am too weak to project myself. But you Harry, have the strength to journey back.' Dumbledore smiled, bitter-sweetly. But then his expression changed.

'You must warn me of the terrors to come, Harry, it is imperative that you prepare everyone for the war. The Christmas of your seventh year is the end all. You must win before the timeline touches that day, or Voldemort will forever be victorious.' Dumbledore warned sharply.

Harry processed his instructions and started thinking about how he could stop the world from falling into this terrible reality. Leaving his friends behind to fight alone, perhaps, or to stop Dumbledore from being poisoned. He knew he could speed up his search for the Horcruxes, but at the same time, the real danger was in the numbers that Voldemort possessed.

'This magic can only happen once, Harry, and time cannot be changed again. You understand?', Dumbledore asked, with a sullen and heavy voice.

Harry nodded, his head running with the thrill of how he would see his friends again, and his heart hopeful once more, for the first time in years. Harry wasn't concerned with risks, or danger, he just wanted to his friends; he wanted Hermione.

Dumbledore wrapped his arms around him, patting his back as he whispered, 'Good luck, my dear boy. I'm sending you back as far as I can. I'm hoping you'll take the opportunity to rescue a certain Animagus.' Dumbledore looked at him with his twinkling blue eyes and winked. Harry eyes brightened in realisation of what Dumbledore meant, and he smiled understandingly.

They broke off their embrace. Over the long years they had become family, with Dumbledore as his surrogate grandfather and Harry as his surrogate grandson. Harry knew that this was the last time he would ever meet this iteration of Dumbledore: the Dumbledore he shared so many conversations with; the Dumbledore that taught him everything he knew. He was disheartened by this fact.

Not many people were left. Minerva, George, Arthur, were some of the only other members alive. Harry did not bid goodbye to them, because he didn't feel he needed to. He had always rejected this reality, in the same way the man challenged in pecuniary matters thinks himself but a temporarily embarrassed millionaire. A part of Harry knew this was all real, but the other part of him, which never accepted this truth, was spurred now by Dumbledore's offer, by the chance to make sure this reality is nothing but a dream.

He moved over and lowered his face into the Pensieve while Fawkes bursted into flames above him; the phoenix finally giving himself over to Thanathos. The Time Turner started to click as Fawkes' ashes fell into the shimmering memory, and Dumbledore began to chant an incantation behind him. The room disappeared as the Pensieve drew Harry's soul back into his fifth year - sucking the Boy Who Lived through time and space, back to the night where Voldemort first revealed himself to the public, back to the night where Voldemort first began his reign of evil, back to a time where he could make a difference again.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I know my writing isn't particularly redolent of J.K. Rowling's prose, but bear with it, I mean it is a fanfiction, no? I don't Harry Potter, etc... Keep in mind the fighting is more from the movies than the books, it was easier to write with something already there to visualise. **

Harry opened his eyes to the night when Sirius died. His surroundings were familiar; he was just here an hour ago retrieving the Time Turner that sent him back through time and space. This room was filled with memory. He scanned the room in a clockwise direction looking for indicators as to when exactly his soul had arrived. But before he had time to estimate the minutes, his eyes found her: Hermione, on the floor, hurt, and to his front, Bellatrix, cackling maniacally. The members of the Order had not arrived yet, this was a dangerous time.

'Lucius, let's kill him already!' Bellatrix shouted.

'No, we need the prophecy, and I told you, he is the Dark Lord's to kill!' Lucius hissed, glowering at Harry.

Harry ignored the bickering pair, and remained focused on his friends, and Hermione. Seeing her on the floor again sent flashbacks of her dead body to Harry's imagination, which made him flinch. The memory reminded him what he was here to do. Harry's breathing thickened and his eyebrows furrowed rigidly, as he turned to face the four Death Eaters before him. Dolohov was on the right, Rookwood on the left, and Bellatrix and Lucius right in the middle.

Harry thought about how strange it was that it had only been a few months ago when he killed three of the four Death Eaters in front of him. Rookwood died during June, Dolohov and Lucius, during March. He never got to kill Bellatrix, though, who was the one he hated most, for she had taken away so much from him. The young wizard counted his blessings: Bellatrix was being delivered on a silver platter – she was right there.

And so that fire of revenge, which usually only flickered in the back of Harry's mind, was right then rekindled by his hatred of Bellatrix. It took only another glance at Hermione, and one at the Veil of Death - that reminded him of Sirius, for the wizard's thirst of revenge to engulf him.

'You three have a choice.' Harry began. 'Either I give you agony and pain, or you give me Bellatrix and I'll leave you relatively alive.' Harry stated, without a discernible expression, but with a voice that was steely and cold.

'You plan to torture us, Potter?' Bellatrix laughed. 'Didn't your dead mother teach you better manners?'

Her crazy expression turned serious. 'I can't kill you, boy, but I can...hurt you.' She said, rolling her tongue as she elongated her words for murderous effect.

Bellatrix glared and pointed her wand sharply at Harry, 'Cruicio!' she shouted. But Harry had already begun to react even before she spoke. He flicked his wand as she completed her spell, conjuring a large boulder that was destroyed as it blocked the curse.

He slashed his wand again, and the pieces of the broken stone rose into the air. With another flick, the rubble was transfigured into sharp pieces of steel, which shot out in a dangerous volley at the Death Eaters.

Ron and Neville were both staring intently at the scene in front of them. They never knew Harry could cast non-verbal spells, much less magic at this high of a level.

The steel pierced Rookwood's chest, who bled profusely, but was not felled. Dolohov dodged, Malfoy ducked, while Bellatrix casted a charm that reflected the shards leftwards. Harry flicked his wand again, and a stream of fire in the shape of a whip emerged (one of Dumbledore's spells). He guided the fire and struck at the Death Eaters. Malfoy jumped out of the way but Dolohov was too slow, and the fire burned a gash on the top of his torso as he was knocked over. The stream of fire continued in its path, and managed to strike at Rookwood as well, which was all it took to incapacitate the already wounded man.

Two out of the four Death Eaters had been taken out in quick succession, and the remaining two began to worry and grew more cautious. The pair decided that they would take Harry on strategically. Bellatrix slowly flanked Harry, while Malfoy stood squarely in front of the wizard with his wand raised.

'It's over boy.' shouted Malfoy. He was secretly worried and wary of Harry. Harry turned so that the two assailants were at his left and right, and then moved backwards to adopt a more favorable angle. The three wizards formed a triangle. Although Harry was confident he could take on Malfoy, Bellatrix, he knew, either matched or surpassed his magical ability. The air was taut with electricity. Both sides nervously waited for the other to make a move.

Taking the intiative, Harry turned to his right and waved his wand to animate the two suits of armor that stood guard beside the doorway. He then proceeded to throw a stunning jinx at Bellatrix. The suits of metal turned towards her, and charged. She was startled by the clunking noises they were making, and barely managed to see and block Harrry's jinx with a shield charm, before turning to face the suits of armor.

While this was occurring, Lucius casted a stunning spell at Harry, which he reflected with a shield charm. At that very moment, when Bellatrix's attention was elsewhere, Harry flourished his wand and a blast of flame shot out and crippled Lucius. However, as Harry prepared to deal the final blow, Dolohov rejoined the fight, emerging from the left while casting an orange, pointed curse at Harry, which forced him into the defensive.

Dolohov aimed his wand at Harry with his left hand, and with his right helped Malfoy back up on his feet. Bellatrix, by this time, had taken down the suits of armor, and proceeded to join the other two wizards to make it a three on one. They then casted curse after curse at Harry, trying to bring him down. Despite Voldemort's warning not to kill Harry, the three Death Eaters were impulsive in their fear, and they did not hold back. Harry was unable to return their attacks, and could do nothing but defend and dodge.

The battle continued in this fashion for minutes, with Harry trying to maintain his shields, and the three Death Eaters in relentless attack. Harry was being overwhelmed, and beginning to tire. Ginny and Luna were missing from the room, and could not assist him. And Ron and Neville were fighting their own duels against Mulciber and Rodolphus.

As he turned his head for a split second to ensure Hermione was still safe, a stray curse cut a huge wound on Harry's right arm, forcing him to drop his wand. Harry scolded himself for being distracted, but there was nothing left to do, his defeat seemed almost certain. But just as his wand hit the floor, there emerged from all around him the loud popping noises of apparation, and members of the Order, people that Harry had not seen in years, arrived. Harry grinned in relief and happiness, he did not wish to die yet.

Curses flew in all directions; there were flashes of every color and echoes of every spell word known. The Death Eaters in the other rooms of the Department of Mysteries heard the commotion, and arrived in the Death Chamber to reinforce Bellatrix's flock. Harry took advantage of the bustle of the battle to retrieve his wand. He held his hand out, and the holly wand levitated straight back into his grip.

He scanned the room for Bellatrix, who he knew would kill Sirius in a matter of minutes. He saw all his old friends as he made his way around the room: Moody; Tonks; Mr. Weasley with hair; Remus, and Harry felt over the moon. But there was a more important task, and he forced himself to focus.

Finally, he found her. Sirius and Bellatrix were dueling near the Veil of Death. Harry did not pause to think, and sprinted at her.

'BELLATRIX!' He screamed. Harry aimed his wand at Bellatrix, and violently thrust his wand upward, lifting Bellatrix's body, and slamming it against the ceiling with blinding speed. As she landed with a thump and moaned in agony, Harry briskly strode over to her body and moves his wand in a circular motion, pointing it at her. A flame emerged from the tip, and began wrapping around her foot. The fire lifted her ten meters into the air, and, at another wave of Harry's wand, snaked around to wrap her entire body, and intensified to burn her in magnificent flames.

Bellatrix screamed and screamed as remain immobilized in the air. There was a manic gleam to Harry's eyes that chilled Sirius to his very marrow.

But all was well again and forgotten, when Harry gave him a look of pure love, which reminded the godfather that Harry's actions, though extremely cruel, were justified. He would just need to admonish him about the dark arts before Harry came too far down that path. Sirius was, despite his concern at Harry's choice of spells, still tremendously impressed at his godson's dueling acumen.

Harry found Hermione, she was behind Neville and Luna and Ron, who were engaging Lucius in a duel, and protecting Hermoine together. Harry strolled over to the back of the Death Eater and said sotto voce, 'I did give you a choice, Lucius.'

At the sound of Harry's voice, Lucius turned his head, and looked at him with an expression of absolute terror. He had no idea that the boy was so heartless in battle, and was paralysed with fear, expecting an imminent and painful death. But Harry waved his wand only to throw Lucius' body to the left hand floor.

Harry had no love for the Malfoy, but he had no grudge either. And though his experience in battle taught him that only death would stop the enemy, he hoped a little that his act of compassion could retract the coming violence of the future.

Not to mention, Harry was also tired and weakened at this point; stronger magic would prevent him from fighting Voldemort later at full strength, and thus he chose to be merciful both out of sympathy and convenience. It was more important to him that he delay the Dark Lord for Dumbledore's arrival.

Harry knelt down, and asked. 'Everyone alright?' His friends nodded. He looked at teenagers in front him and beamed. Turning his head from the left to the right, he nearly cried from seeing the people in front of him: Ron, with his ginger hair, his gangly build, Harry's best friend; Neville, eternally chubby, ungainly, but oh so brave; Luna, dreamy as always, and still talkative.

'Harry, you seem to have grown stronger. Is this some undocumented effect of the Nargles?' Luna asked, innocuously.

'Blimey Harry, your magic, it was bloody brilliant' blurted Ron with a confused but impressed look. 'Thank you, Ron.' Harry smiled. 'How are you, and how's Hermione?' 'I got cut a little. But Hermione seems to be ok, I think, just knocked out.' Ron replied, with a concerned frown.

Harry moved forwards to sit beside her, cradling her in his arms as he moved her head onto his lap. He stroked her brown hair brazenly, waiting for a response, treasuring how warm her body was (which was unlike the last time he held her in this position). But she was still unconscious. Harry did not notice the pointed look that Ron was giving him. Her peaceful expression tightened Harry's chest.

As he held on to her he noticed just how large the gash on his arm was. He was bleeding onto Hermione, and so he decided to move away.

All too soon, 'Harry Potter! Come out and face me.' screamed a reptilian voice, enchanted by a godly Sonorous charm.

Harry knew what was about to come; all he could hope for now was that Dumbledore could reach them in time. His friends looked at him and he returned their meaningful looks, whispering hastily. 'I've got to go now. Take care of Hermione and, promise me, do not leave this area.'

He gave the care of Hermione to Luna and pushed himself up, heading towards the Atrium, where he knew the Dark Lord would be waiting. Running towards the door, he was caught by surprise by Sirius, who tried to hold him back, locking his arms.

"Get off me. I need to hold him off!" Harry shouted. "Harry, you can't." Sirius said in an urgent tone. "You're still a child. James wouldn't allow this. At least, let me come with you."

"Sirius, I'm not putting you in danger again." Harry said, with assertive attitude.

Sirius was a little confused by what he meant, but replied, 'Then we'll both stay here. Dumbledore will be arriving soon, and he can deal with Voldemort.'

Harry stopped, putting away his wand. "Alright. I'm sorry." And Sirius relaxed his grip, his face relieved.

But then, without warning, as swiftly as he had holstered it, Harry drew his wand and flicked it to the left, abruptly pushing his father's best friend to the side, in such a way that he would be forced to rejoin the battle. Harry could not endanger him again. Sirius meant well, but Harry had already watched him die in this room once; he did not want to do it again.

If Sirius stayed in this room to fight this winning battle, where the Order outnumbered the Death Eaters two to one, at least he had a significantly higher chance of surviving. What Sirius did not understand was that Dumbledore would not arrive for some time, as Harry remembered. And if Harry did not confront Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord would hunt for him instead, and slaughter whoever stood in his way.

Harry ran towards the Atrium. And, as he arrived, he saw the Dark Lord pacing, two steps away from the fountain.

'Harry Potter.'

'Tom.' Harry replied.

All of a sudden, the Dark Lord screamed. ''Avada Kedavra!" "Expelliarmus!" A green mass collided with a red spell, and a connection formed between the wands of the two wizards. Priori Incantatum. Although Harry's own spell was weak, he knew that the winner of this magical phenomenon was not determined by spell power, but by the caster's spirit.

Harry, summoning the sadness and guilt from his losses over the years, forced the evil wizard's anger into a stalemate, despite Voldemort's superior skill. In the future, Voldemort would have ended him in seconds, but this one underestimated him.

The energy emanating from the magical phenomenon was scalding the skin of Harry's face and arms, the pressure from it was widening the gash on Harry's shoulder. Maintaining this connection was extremely painful for him; tempering this chaotic wildness took all the strength he could muster, and his right hand was already trembling. But Harry knew that this was the last time he would have a chance to delay the Dark Lord, while Voldemort was still relatively weak.

Harry thus ignored his own wounds and fatigue, and decided to do what he could to destroy the Dark Lord's current physical form, which would force him back into hiding and grant the Order more time to prepare.

Voldemort's expression quickly turned from one of gleeful arrogance into one of focused concern. Surely the boy wasn't this skilled the last time they had fought. Making the first move, Harry, gripping his wand with both hands, violently ripped off the connection between their wands. The force from this severance recoiled backwards against Voldemort and stunned him. Taking advantage of Voldemort's temporary paralysis, Harry flicked his wand diagonally from left to right, then right to left, everything in sight was thrown towards the Dark Lord - rubble, chairs, statues.

It was a good tactic. With each casting of a spell, Harry felt his own strength draining away. He had to create a distraction, before Voldemort retaliated. Harry waved his wand and sent a Killing Curse at Voldemort, which he knew even the all-powerful Dark Lord would have to dodge. Voldemort saw the spell emerge behind the many objects that were approaching him, and was forced to jump out of the way, as he had no time to conjure a defence. Taking advantage of Voldemort's surprise, Harry raised his arm and pointed his wand up at the ceiling sending out a plume of dark grey smoke that covered his opponent, simultaneously concealing his location.

Harry crouched, and circled his opponent, hiding in the smoke. "I admit, boy, you have talent, but you are no match." Voldemort said poisonously. He waved his wand, and the smoke dissipated, but it was too late: Harry had succeeded in delaying Tom Riddle. The rest of the Order had won their duels and were arriving from the doorway to the right. Albus Dumbledore, who though was still some distance away, was rapidly making his way over from the hallway to the left. Voldemort turned his head, and realised that in a few minutes he would be surrounded by powerful wizards.

Voldemort had to end Harry Potter, and quickly too. While he was distracted, the Potter boy shot Sectumsempras at him from all angles.

Voldemort erected a shield that deflected the spells.

"You underestimate me, Harry Potter!" Voldemort sneered, and in one smooth motion, stood up and jabbed his wand, conjuring powerful flames that were in the shape of a dragon, which roared with searing intensity and shined a brilliant orange. Harry's hair was sent flying backwards. The spell crushed the statues and suits of armor in the room, forcing off large boulders of stone from the fountain in the middle, as it shattered the flutings that prettied the structure.

Harry had to act quickly. After taking three fast steps backwards, he rooted himself to the ground, held out his wand with both hands, and projected a glassy circular shield that was at least ten meters in diameter. Harry could not withstand this blast, and was thrown to the very end of the room - onto the shards of stone. His glasses fell from his face, as he laid limply on the floor, with the wind knocked out of him - looking as though he were dead. And just like that the battle ended. Voldemort vanished.

As Harry drifted in and out of consciousness, he thought of how he would never match the Dark Lord; he couldn't even beat this weakened form. He was saddened and disappointed at himself.

Before he passed out, he heard the sound of a few short words. 'Harry? Harry? Albus, he needs medicine!'

He may not have defeated Voldemort, but Harry could tell from the bark: Sirius was very much alive.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I took some liberties with the scenery. I like everything all pretty and stuff, so the hospital might not be super similar to how JK described it. Again, my story ain't that loyal to JK's. I try my best but I'm not particularly meticulous. Please forgive ;p**

Harry Potter woke with a start. There were droplets of sweat all over his forehead, and his pyjamas were patched with moisture. Harry remembered where he was. It never happened. Not here. Not really. He focused his attention on his breath to try and calm himself down: in and out, in and out. 'My friends are alive. Sirius is alive.' he chanted, over and over. "They're all still alive.'

When Harry first came back he wanted to believe that the events in his timeline had never happened, and, that they would never come to happen. This was, in a sense, true. A solitary change to the past alters the entire stream of future events. But the truth was that those deaths were still real to Harry's mind, and the taint of trauma is one not easily exorcised.

He was sat in a spartan bed with nothing but a pillow and a comforter. The sheets were white and clean though, which was something he stopped experiencing by the fourth year of the war. Harry put on his glasses, which were on his bedside table, and surveyed his surroundings. He was in the hospital wing. This was his first time here in years, for in his timeline, Hogwarts fell sometime during the second year of the war, or was it the third year - he couldn't recall. He felt serenity and peace of mind, taking a minute to breathe in his surroundings: the door was approximately fifteen meters to his left, and he could get there in four seconds - maybe seven seconds in his current state; the walls were panelled with oak, which gave the room a woody scent; and he counted sixteen beds-and-tables in total, with black-framed garden windows lodged between every set - which could be used as exits.

The windows opened to a species of trees unknown to him, perhaps a magical breed. A lonely silver offshoot grew wildly from one of the branches and entered the room; as the night breeze blew in, he could see its leaves shiver. It had been a long time since he had felt such tranquility.

There was an obtrusive rapt on the door; someone was knocking and trying to enter. Harry, now alert, pulled out his wand, and readied himself for a fight.

"Harry, may I enter?" a familiar voice sounded. He sighed in relief, recognising who it was, and put his wand under his pillow.

"Yes, come in."

Dumbledore entered, looking much younger than Harry remembered, and seeming sprightly. He smiled at Harry and glided over in perfect composure, with such posture that his loose fitting half-moon glasses barely shifted from their position. Tonight he was wearing a starry blue hat and billowing dark blue robes, with a long sleeved white dress-shirt underneath. His shoes were maroon and pointed leather.

He reached Harry's bedside in eight seconds, ambling there at a graceful pace. With a flick of his wand he conjured a chair, which he positioned with both hands to the left of Harry's bed. Harry put his pillow behind his back and sat upright, getting ready for a lengthy conversation. His eyes examined Dumbledore. Now that he was seeing this younger version of the headmaster, he could tell how much Dumbledore had aged from the stresses of his previous timeline. But his thoughts turned and instantly found his friends.

"Albus... I mean, sir. How's Hermione, is she all right? Sirius? And everybody else?" Harry asked in a hurried pace.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in reaction to being called by his first name. He didn't mind it, but he had never heard Harry use it before. "Your concern for your friends and family is admirable, Harry." He beamed.

"They are perfectly safe, just so you know." Harry smiled like it was Christmas.

"That's really good," he replied.

Dumbledore coughed politely. "Now, Harry, before we begin, I must both praise and reproach you for your actions last night. Your magic led to the capture of many Death Eaters. But it was highly irresponsible for you to endanger both yourself, and your friends. Your first reaction to those visions should have been to inform an adult. You must be more considerate and mindful of consequences in the future."

Harry stared in disbelief at Dumbledore; he had forgotten what their exchanges were like before they became friends. "I told Snape but he refused to do anything!" Harry said defiantly.

Dumbledore put up his hand, beckoning for Harry to stay quiet. "Professor Snape, Harry." He reminded, sharply. "Now, I have given this matter much thought. And think that, given our circumstances, there is no time better than the current to entrust you with a very important piece of information."

He paused to give more emphasis to his next words. 'There is a reason why Voldemort targeted your family...'

Harry interrupted. 'Albus, I know. I know about the prophecy.' Dumbledore recoiled at Harry's statement, but the headmaster quickly composed himself.

"I had heard the prophecy was smashed." Dumbledore stated.

"It was."

It must have been one of the Order members that told him then, probably his godfather. Dumbledore gave orders that Harry was not to be told until he was ready.

'I see...Sirius?' he asked, slightly irked.

'No. You, sir.' Harry said.

Dumbledore was perplexed. Harry's behaviour and actions tonight were very peculiar. For one thing he was much more skilled than the headmaster remembered. At first, he attributed this leap in ability (that Harry had demonstrated at the Ministry) to have stemmed from a stronger motivation to practice in light of Voldemort's return. But after considering it more maturely, Albus wondered if that was true. The boy had shown such astounding progress in such a short time. In point of fact, for a short time, the child had even gone toe to toe with Lord Voldemort. What was going on?

"I don't understand, Harry." Dumbledore probed skeptically, but in a understated way, as if he didn't want to scare Harry off. Harry squinted his eyes for a second and looked up, breathing in as he tried to recall a memory.

Harry thought, 'He'll never believe me, unless I tell him something only he could have told to me.' He didn't want to remind Dumbledore of his painful past, but saw no other choice.

"We seize control for the greater good, for the muggles' own good." Harry said, finally, before giving Dumbledore a pointed look, wondering whether or not his mentor would understand.

The headmaster, hearing his century-old words parroted, was caught off guard. He was shocked. He was positive that had never told anybody about the letters he had written to his one-time friend, Grindelwald. The only way Harry could have heard this particular string of words was if he had told him himself. Was it a Memory Charm? Combined with a dose of Veritaserum? Highly unlikely, he had been isolated from students and teachers this year, and considering his own brilliant mind, it was very unlikely that his memory could have been tampered without him knowing.

Harry was calling him Albus without hesitation, as if he was accustomed to it. His syntax and body language was different from those of the boy Dumbledore knew from just a few months ago. And, to add to that, the child was not even remotely curious about the prophecy, speaking not only as if he was familiar with its contents, but also as if he understood the implications those words have had for both his fate and his family's.

There was no easy explanation for Harry's behaviour; it was rife with inconsistencies. To begin with he could not have become this skilled in magic in mere months, and the headmaster had no recollection of ever telling him about the prophecy. Most disturbingly of all, though, the child knew about the contents of Dumbledore's teenage letters - the dark words of burnt letters of which he was extremely ashamed. There was only one possibility.

Albus' eyes widened as he gave a fearful whisper. 'I sent you back. We...we failed.' Harry nodded.

'The Horcruxes?' Albus asked.

'Gone.'

'How many years?'

'Six.'

The next question was the most difficult to answer. "How many of us were left?" Dumbledore asked, shakily, in trepidation.

"Seven."

Dumbledore face dropped. All composure was gone. He looked impossibly sad. He opened and then closed his mouth thrice in a fragmentary fashion: trying to speak but unable to find the words. He couldn't understand how...how he had failed. He thought he had planned for every contingency. But nearly everything had failed, except for the time-travelling, which was his actual last resort. Dumbledore knew there was always an element of chance to his posturing, but he didn't think it was sufficient to warrant a complete failure.

"What was it?" he asked Harry, whom he now knew was not a child but a man. Harry looked down in anger, gritting his teeth, and hissed, 'The Ministry's collapse."

"And another thing, Albus, we got something wrong.' The wised wizard raised his eyebrows as Harry glared out the window. 'People didn't fight back.'

The headmaster frowned in thought for some time - Harry didn't know how long. The hospital was overtly silent, as if the leaves had lost the courage to rustle. Dumbledore's hand was stroking his beard, and it was so quiet that Harry could hear the scratching.

The headmaster's fingers left his bearded chin as he finally looked up. 'Harry, I'm so sorry I failed.' Dumbledore grieved, with unshed tears gleaming in his blue eyes. "I didn't expect…"

"It's alright, Albus. We both had a hand in this." Harry interrupted, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. Dumbledore nodded appreciatively.

"Disappointment and self-loathing can come later. We need to rethink our plans." Harry continued, changing the subject, keeping the conversation dynamic to prevent it from following any maudlin tangents - as he knew they would just make him break down

"Then you must tell me everything. Do not withhold a single iota of information." Dumbledore finished.

Harry nodded, realising why Albus didn't give him any detailed instruction: he still trusted his younger-self, and, to tell the truth, Harry did too. He did not think any less of Dumbledore despite the failure of his plans. Harry knew that if there were any strategist that could match Voldemort, it would be Dumbledore. Sometimes there was a huge part of him that wanted to rely completely on Dumbledore; to thrust upon him all the responsibilities of the war and then to run away (hopefully with Hermione). But a small voice in his head told him that, in the end, it would still be him, the Boy-Who-Lived, that would face the Dark Lord, and it was a task that he would have to do alone. It scared the living hell out of him: not because he was afraid of pain or dying, but because he knew his friends would try and help, and he didn't know if he could protect them - he couldn't the last time.

"Things will be different." Harry kept telling himself, "This time we'll win, this time we've got the advantage." Harry thought about how no one had perished in that fight at the Department of Mysteries, and tried to believe his own words.

Then Harry began his story.

"The first Horcrux we found was at Black Manor The second is here, in the Room of Requirement. Those two will be the easiest to acquire."

During the long silences of their conversation, when Dumbledore was quiet in deep thought, Harry wondered where Ron and Hermione were - he couldn't wait to see them tomorrow, and he really didn't want to keep thinking about the war.

The two wizards spoke into the wee hours, until such time that time began to dilate, and Harry's eyes began exponentially growing in weight.

"Voldemort retreated when he discovered that his Horcruxes had been destroyed? I did not expect this kind of wisdom from Tom." Dumbledore observed.

"We never saw him again after that fight." Harry said, "Do you think he took the time to make new Horcruxes?"

"I don't believe it is possible, Harry, with Tom's soul as diseased and damaged as it is. I believe it would be unlikely that he possessed the strength to split his soul again."

When Harry got to the story of the fall of Hogwarts, Dumbledore looked despondent and sickly. Harry saw that despite Dumbledore's Machiavellian tendencies, the old wizard felt incredible pain at every sacrifice he made. He took responsibility for all the difficult decisions, so that everyone else would be free of that guilt which follows a man, or a woman, until death. Harry understood the feeling, because in the future the two of them would lead the resistance together: every failure painted blood on their hands.

"Albus, don't fret. You did everything you could." Harry said.

"I never meant for any of this to happen, Harry. I meant to protect the school." Dumbledore said, in a most jarring tone.

"You tried, I stopped you. You were going to sink along with the rest of the ship." Harry said as his eyes wandered around the room, as if remembering the very day. "But if you had, the rest of the war would have been lost."

"You're the one that taught me that sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. Take your own advice. If we didn't let Hogwarts fall, I would never have made it back here." Harry said, gesturing to the ground with both his hands.

During his younger years, Harry would have felt uncomfortable to see Dumbledore show such weakness, but now, such vulnerability, though rather unsettling, didn't bother Harry whatsoever. In the future, their relationship was so close that they were always present during each other's lowest; Harry knew what his friend needed to hear. Hiding his own fears about the future, Harry tried his best to sound optimistic.

"Albus, we can change things."

"We will do our best." replied Dumbledore, curtly, with a cautious edge to his voice.

Very soon the lark began to sing, at which time Dumbledore excused himself. "We will continue this conversation later, Harry. For now I want you to rest while I collect my thoughts and plan ahead. You've experienced so much. You deserve, for now, a bit of peace and quiet." Dumbledore smiled.

Harry replied sleepily, "I'm half-dead with exhaustion. I'll see you soon, Albus."

Dumbledore took one last look, and then turned to leave the room, leaving Harry alone to find that elusive sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Yes, it's a bit of a jump for Harry to have to do his OWLs again, but I was thinking, what the heck, it's wish fulfilment, and I like a Harry that excels at school. **

It wasn't until just past noon that Harry woke up. The sun was already bright out. Its rays were strong enough that he could see their orange tint past his eyelids. He could feel the rumblings of hunger - he had not eaten for two days. And he was still tired, despite the many hours that he had spent in slumber

Harry lifted his eyes and the scene opened to Hermione, asleep on the chair to his left, hugging a large dusty book tightly with her two arms. Harry took a moment to savor the scene, wondering if he should wake her, or let her continue sleeping. He didn't need to answer that question because, as he reached for his glasses to get a better look, he accidentally bumped the bed frame with his elbow, and Hermione stirred from the noise he made. "Oops." Harry said as he sucked his teeth.

"Harry, you're awake!" Hermione said, rubbing her eyes and smiling at him. She stood up, and sleepily made her way over to hug him. His brain was on hyper alert. He was acutely aware of every sensation of her touch, from the tickling of her hair on his skin, to her fingers digging into his back and her chest pressing against his. Their hug was a few seconds too long. Neither of them took the initiative to let go, and while they did finally pull away, it was done so reluctantly - more from the unspoken 5 second rule of hugging than from their own volitions. As she sat back down she noticed the way that Harry was staring at her, and she blushed, a little uncomfortable, and chose to face the floor rather than return his look. She spoke, after a while, in order to break the silence.

"I heard you saved us, Harry! People were telling me about how bravely you fought. Where did you learn all those spells? I've never seen you practicing or reading about them. And you didn't teach it to the DA, either!" Hermione said.

And just like that the awkwardness disappeared. Harry and Hermione talked for a long time. He described the battle in full detail and even told her about the prophecy. Harry knew he would be lying to her in the future, and wanted to be as honest as possible while he had the chance.

"That's amazing Harry, I can't believe you took on Voldemort and survived. And those spells you described. Did reading the prophecy awaken some kind of power in you?"

"Uh...Yeah? Yes." Harry shifted in discomfort.

"Well perhaps we'll be able to join in the fight and help the Order now. Everyone was so hesitant last summer. But if they knew you were destined to defeat Voldemort, they would definitely let us help." Hermione said, confidently.

Hermione's unwavering confidence scared him. She acted this way the first time as well. "Destined to defeat Voldemort." It was unrealistic for her to expect so much from him. His stomach was knotting with anxiety for the future, and he became distracted from the conversation.

She noticed his expression. "Harry, are you alright?" "Yeah, I'm just tired from yesterday." Harry replied, forcing a half-hearted glimmer of a smile.

Hermione could tell that Harry was lying to her, but decided to let it go; she knew that when he was ready to share he would tell her what was wrong. He was always one to push his feelings down, but today, she observed apathy in his behaviour that she was unaccustomed to - as if he was detached from everything around him.

It was worrying to see him like this; the way he was staring wistfully out the window made him seem so much older, and so much sadder. She knew that she didn't have the words to comfort her best friend. Sometimes words just aren't enough.

Harry stared off into nowhere, with his mind still brimming with intrusive thoughts. In his state, Harry had failed to notice that Hermione was edging closer.

She moved her supinated hand out and reached for Harry's. Using the front of her fingers, she softly pushed his fingers out of their tight grip. Then, she slid her own fingers between his, squeezing his hand, while giving Harry a soft smile.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure why she decided to act this way. For some reason, she felt that the mood between them had changed, and that holding his hand was the appropriate course of action.

Harry turned to her dreamily, studying their intertwined fingers for a few seconds, before focusing his attention back on her face. Her touch had lulled him away from his thoughts. The room itself seemed like it was holding its breath.

"Hermione..." He said, under his breath, as he stared intently into her eyes. He felt so much fondness at the moment that he forgot himself, and moved his head forwards, while pulling Hermione into his embrace...

"Harry!"

They snapped away just as Sirius kicked open the door and entered the room. Ron was following just behind. Sirius howled. "That's my godson! Chosen One, Voldemort defeater, and, my hero!" He sprinted over to the bed and lifted Harry into the air, holding him with all the loving pride of a father.

"Ow...Sirius, my arm." Harry grumbled in pain, still a shade annoyed at Sirius' untimely appearance.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot." Sirius apologized, as he put Harry back on his feet. "I guess being the Chosen One doesn't mean you're immune to injury." He was in a cheerful mood, and was nothing like the Sirius that Harry remembered - the one who sulked the halls of Grimmauld Place.

"Ron." Harry smiled, as he and Ron approached each other. Harry reached out with his left arm to give him a warm, one-armed hug. "You did great out there yesterday, mate." Harry praised. Turning back to Hermione, "You did well as well, Hermione." She rolled her eyes and smiled modestly. "I was unconscious for most of it, Harry, let's not be coy."

"All three of you did very well. Now, if we're done with pleasantries, how about we head to lunch?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, I could eat." Harry said, thinking about how long it had been since his last meal. His next meal would be his first in this timeline.

The four of them set off together. Sirius, Ron, and Harry were laughing in the front, chatting away about their duels and adventures at the Ministry.

"Before I forget, why are you here in Hogwarts, Sirius?" Harry asked. "I stayed to keep an eye on you, Harry."

Sirius replied, "I was out patrolling the grounds last night, and so when Ron woke me up, I came to see you straight away."

Harry was glad that Sirius cared so much about him that he sacrificed his sleep; he knew how much his godfather liked to nap. The subject matter turned back to last night's battle.

"Did you see me jinx Dolohov?" asked Ron excitedly.

"That was nothing compared to all the ones I took down." Sirius bragged arrogantly.

"Sirius, you were sneaking up behind Death Eaters and cursing them while they weren't looking." Ron revealed, while shaking his head, "I was expecting more from a member of the Order."

"Well, there's no point in fighting honourably when you're fighting evil, right?"

Everybody laughed at this casuistic philosophy. But Sirius' words, along with Ron's reaction to them, also had the effect of reminding Harry of one of the reasons why they lost the war.

In the beginning, nobody, including Harry himself, accepted that waging war meant abandoning the moral high ground. The avoidance of this philosophy drove him into making decisions that caused death. Eventually, Harry, and the rest of the resistance, came to the conclusion that it was unhealthy for fighters to qualify the morality of their choices, and that they must thus focus on the reasons why there were fighting instead. Otherwise, they would have been driven crazy by the guilt.

Battle is always cruel, but victory can be merciful. It was not merely a manifestation of Sirius' Slytherin side, but effective strategy to desert any thought of what was 'appropriate' during a fight.

Honour, after all, does not win battles.

Hermione was trailing behind the three wizards. She was still a bit flustered from that moment with Harry, and wasn't quite sure what it meant. Was he trying to kiss her?

The abrupt shift in mood left her feeling offbeat, and she decided to abstain from the conversation while she composed herself.

"Harry, there's something important I need to tell you." Sirius began, in a grave voice. Harry turned to Sirius, cursing in his head, and nodded, bracing himself for some horrible news.

But then Sirius broke into a grin. "The Ministry cleared me, and Dumbledore is letting you stay with me this summer!" Harry's eyes lit up as his godfather rammed into him for another hearty embrace. He finally escaped the Dursleys! Harry could stay with his real family.

Pain. "Sirius, I'm excited too, but my arm." Harry whined.

"Harry, toughen up." Sirius clutched on to Harry for a few more seconds before finally releasing him. As Harry rubbed his right arm with his left, Sirius added. "You'll never beat Voldemort without reasonable pain tolerance!"

Harry ignored his jab, too preoccupied with the notion of not suffering the Dursleys to think about the Dark Lord. "So I'm really not going back to the Dursleys this summer?" he asked, wanting to hear Sirius repeat those lush words again.

"Hopefully, you'll never have to go there again." Sirius replied.

Harry was excited that he would finally be able to spend time with Sirius, and to be able talk to him about something other than impending doom. Their interactions in the past were all marked by either danger or melancholy.

"Will the entire Order be staying with us as well?" Harry asked.

"They'll drop by from time to time, but for the most part we'll be alone. Dumbledore asked that we be granted some quality time." Sirius replied in a jocular tone.

They continued down the stairs. Harry looked around at the castle and felt as if he were returning home after a long trip.

All the students they walked past gave them curious looks, especially at Sirius, whom, for most of their lives, they had been led to believe was a psychopathic murderer.

But they also ogled at Harry. The reports about him being the Chosen One inspired the interests of students from every house - even Slytherin, though theirs were more from anger and fear than inquisitive spirits.

"Oh mate, did you hear the news?" Ron asked, suddenly remembering something.

"What's up?"

"We've got to take our OWLs again, don't we?" he complained, "We have to do them all again, apparently it'll reflect our skills better, since last time we were under duress. We've got to take them ALL again. Bloody stinks, doesn't it?"

"Ronald, language please."

"All I said was bloody!" Ron protested.

Hermione had rejoined the group. She crossed her arms, and scrunched her forehead. "We'll get to get higher marks, which is really important if we want to have the best chance of having good careers."

"Maybe, but taking exams is never fun. Isn't that right, Harry?" Ron said as he elbowed him. The pair gave each other silent and brisk nods, trying to hide their agreement from Hermione.

"Honestly, you two. And Harry, you're the Chosen One!" Hermione shook her head.

As they continued their journey, Sirius offhandedly remarked. "Well, to be honest, the OWLs aren't all that difficult. James and I barely studied and between us we had thirteen Outstandings."

"Sirius, don't encourage them!" Hermione glared, as Sirius gave Ron and Harry a cheeky wink.

Harry smiled stupidly as the foursome continued on their way. Their conversation felt utterly casual, which is why it filled Harry with such contentment. Relative to the exchanges that he was accustomed to, these 'mundane' moments stood out like diamonds among coal. These opportunities for frivolity were what Harry was fighting for. He wanted to feel this normalcy on a daily basis, and to one day share the feeling with his own family.

Even though Harry felt it was silly for him to think of the future, once in a while, he would picture himself with a wife and a few children at a home. The fantasy was not one he often indulged in for it was quite frightening to think about. In this war, that was red in tooth and claw, looking ahead held only disappointment, because the future was always covered in mist, in a grey that never dissipates. He had to focus on winning, and not on a stupid dream.

But he was enjoying himself right now. Everyone he cared about was alive, and close. And soon Harry's doleful thoughts were replaced by more pleasant ones.

Hermione saw Harry's expression brighten and hoped it meant he was feeling better. His improvement led her into a relieved smile. Harry caught her looking at him, and smiled back at her. She kept eye contact until he turned and blushed, which didn't take very long (two seconds).

Harry couldn't figure out if this was flirting. He could charm objects extraordinary well but wasn't at all experienced with the intricacies of courtship. One moment she was speaking to him like he was just a friend, and the other, she was staring and smiling at him. But was she even staring at him? Maybe she was just thinking about something, which made it seem like she was looking at him. He turned back to check, but she was now in conversation with Sirius.

"No, we didn't cheat, the OWLs just aren't that difficult. Hermione, I did them decades ago, I promise you I can't remember much..."

Then, they entered the Great Hall.

"Amazing." Harry whispered.

Over time, Harry had adapted to the disarray of war, and grew into the habit of expecting it wherever he want. The Great Hall had, for nearly eight months, served as their temporary headquarters, and, to Harry, embodied all the perilousness and austerity of war. The cheer the Great Hall now jubilantly radiated contrasted strongly with his own memories of the place. It was awesome and strange just to watch the students eat.

Sirius left their company to join the teachers at their table, while he, Ron, and Hermione, found seats beside Neville at the Gryffindor table. As he sat down, Harry looked over at the teacher's table and noticed McGonagall gesturing at him to come over. He waved at and greeted Neville, before quickly making his way there.

His godfather was on the far end, sitting beside Hagrid, while Dumbledore seemed to be missing. The rest of the teachers were eating quietly. When Harry's gaze fell onto Snape, the potions master sneered at him. McGonagall pointed to the corner of the Great Hall, and Harry walked over there to meet with his professor.

"Mr. Potter, how are you feeling today?" McGonagall asked formally.

"I'm feeling well. Thank you, Professor." Harry replied. It was comforting to see McGonagall back to her old-self.

"I realise you are still in convalescence, Mr. Potter, but the Ministry examiners insist that you take the OWLs this evening. It'll be the Charms, Transfiguration, and History exams today."

"I understand, Professor." Harry said. He wasn't keen on taking the exams. After all he hadn't been in school for years now, and had forgotten everything that wasn't useful. As he prepared to return to his table, McGonagall added.

"I'm glad your excursion to the Ministry has left you unblemished, Harry. For what it's worth, I think that your actions, though misguided, were very courageous."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry replied, happy that he could make his teacher smile; he hadn't seen that expression for a long time now.

Harry made his way back to his friends, and sat down happily in their company. But before he could eat even a morsel of food, his friends began barraging him with questions.

"History, Transfiguration, and Charms, yeah." Harry said, before stuffing himself with mashed potatoes.

"We've got to start reviewing now. The exams are in three hours!" Hermione said in a panicked voice, before rushing out of the Great Hall holding a big plate of food, without even saving goodbye.

Harry continued to eat peacefully, while the rest of his friends were anxiously discussing examination topics. He had a rather extensive knowledge of the practical subjects (Potions, Charms, and such), but knew next to nothing about the others (Divination, History, Astronomy). Either way he didn't care though, they were just exams; it wasn't as if Sirius would punish him for doing badly.

"Mate, aren't you nervous at all, about the exams?" Ron questioned.

"Yeah, Harry." Neville added, looking at the table in fear. "If I do badly my grandmother will kill me."

Harry gave it some thought before replying calmly. "Honestly, it's too late for me to start cramming, and we've already done the same exams a few years, I mean a few days ago. It's not like they've changed the syllabus."

"That's true, but now mum's gonna expect me to do more than just pass..."

The luncheon continued on in this fashion, with Harry focusing on eating as much as he could, and Ron and Neville testing each other on spells and various topics. "Ok, Neville, what's the incantation for a Cheering Charm?" "Uh, uh. I forgot..."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey everyone. Yeah, the magic is super unlike Harry Potter magic. But consider this: it's fanfiction, I thought it would be cool if Harry, even though he ain't particularly powerful, would be able to be very creative with his powers. Sort of the characterise him for some of the crazy stuff he does later. Enjoy, Review!**

After finishing their food, they retreated to the Common Room. Harry went to his bed to take a short nap, while Ron and Neville joined Hermione to review. Hermione was too focused on her work to notice that Harry had returned.

Harry stepped into his dormitory, stood under the doorframe, and looked around for a few seconds. He could remember his first time in this room, and couldn't believe it was more than a decade ago. Walking over, he found his bed, took off his glasses, and slipped under the red covers. There was no dysphoria, no worries or anxieties. Harry fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Following a brief sleep, Harry woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. "Harry, the OWLs are in twenty..." But before the voice finished, Harry had grabbed the person with his arms and pushed her down onto his bed. In a force of habit, he raised his wand and pointed it at her. Hermione's eyes were wide in fear, shocked that she was being attacked. Upon realizing who he was holding, Harry dropped his grip and his wand, not sure how to react, as he sat on top of her awkwardly, stunned at both himself and at their suggestive position.

"Harry, you can get off me now." She whispered, looking away. He sped off her.

"I'm sorry, I was...uh, having a nightmare." He blurted nervously. Hermione stood up in a fluster and straightened her robes.

Composed again, but very red, she stammered. "I I I, just wanted to tell you that our OWLs are starting soon, so you should get dressed." Then, she stood idly for a second before scampering out the dormitory.

"Damnit." Harry swore to himself. He couldn't believe how badly he had messed up, now Hermione was going to think he was some sort of creep. And just when it was going well. Grumbling, he put on his robes and started down the wooden stairs, taking his time in trepidation of how his friends would react.

"Come on, Harry, we're going to be late!" Ron shouted at him from across the room. Hermione didn't tell anyone what had happened. Neville, she, and Ron were waiting for him next to the portrait which connected the Gryffindor common room to the rest of the school.

"Coming." he said, as he made his way over, trying to catch Hermione's eye, who seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

They made their way to the third floor's Charms classroom, which was being used as a substitute exam hall. The hall had several benches in place. They were flat and dark brown without backs to lean on; it was obvious that sitting on them would be an uncomfortable enterprise. The hall was dimly lit since it was already evening, which added to the tension. The door of the classroom was open when they arrived, with a Ministry examiner standing under the doorframe. She looked familiar, but Harry couldn't quite remember her name. She was dressed in large green robes, with a forest green hat. The professor had a decrepit figure, and was, at least physically, in senescence.

"Welcome back children. Now, we will begin with written tests. So if you could all please follow me."

Harry found his desk on the left corner, with Neville on his right, and Ron and Hermione on the other end. He looked around at the classroom, and remembered both his lessons here, and their use of it as a war room. There were long tables on the two sides of the room, propped against the walls, and a row of shorter, smaller tables in the middle where they were being tested. The windows were wide open - not boarded up, which gave Harry a sense of unease.

Distracting himself, he began answering his Charms exam paper. The paper was relatively easy; under Dumbledore's mentorship, he had gone through years of advanced material, and even though he lacked some of the facts to answer the questions, he could intuit the answers with ease.

The night went on, the candles flamed with a reddish-orange hue, the quills scratched irregularly, and Ron had a cough which would occasionally break the silence. It felt very woody, the room, with its interior design ordering studiousness. It was hard to drift away in this environment (even Ron was focused) and Harry didn't think his usual thoughts.

The students were given breaks between each of the exams, but were in such focus that they did not communicate much during them. However, at the penultimate break, Harry and Ron joked around a little, celebrating that they were nearly done their day's worth of tests, and only had History of Magic to go. That celebration was premature, however, because Harry really had no idea what to write for his essay. He knew a lot of history about Voldemort, and battle strategy to an extent, but not much else. It wasn't as if he wrote many essays during his years of fighting a war.

At last, after much head scratching and sighs, he produced an essay on Goblin Rebellions, events he remembered because they had used devious tactics against the more numerous wizards. At the completion of his essay, Ron gave Harry a devastated look, while Neville looked to be sobbing into his robes.

Finally, they had completed their theory exams, and were now moving on to the practical tests. The lot of them left the room to wait their turn on the depressing hallway benches.

Hermione was the first to be summoned, and walked in and out of the classroom looking confident. His surname was next in alphabetical order.

"Good luck, Harry!" She said, in a friendly manner as she left the classroom. He wasn't sure how to interpret her words. Did he want her to be friendly? How did girls act around guys they fancied?

"Mr. Potter?" The professor called. He left his other friends who were all yawning in fatigue. Harry entered the classroom.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter." the examiner said.

"Good night, more like." Harry mumbled.

"Pardon me?" The examiner asked.

"Nothing, haha, I just said good evening back." Harry smiled. The examiner looked confused and raised her eyebrows.

"Well, I'm Professor Marchbanks, if you recall." Harry nodded.

She led Harry over to a table which had an egg sitting in the middle, and gestured at it. "Please cast a Doubling Charm on this egg here, Mr. Potter."

Harry walked over to the table, and scrutinized the egg - worry was plastered all over his face. He couldn't remember the spell. As he got more familiar with non-verbal spells, Harry realised that the manipulation of magic depended more on the thoughts of the wizard; the evocation of the sensations which came with each spell, more so than chanting the spell itself. He knew that he would fail the test unless he could justifiably not use spell words, and decided to try flashing her into forgetting that he had not really done with she had asked.

Instead of casting the charm, which Harry could not remember, he waved his wand gracefully, moving up, diving down, flicking left, to send out flickers of light.

"Non-verbal spells? That's beyond the OWL level. But, Mr. Potter you need to follow my instructions." He ignored her and continued his wand work, and then the his spells began to show: the egg split cleanly in half and another smaller egg jumped out of it before the first egg resealed itself. His wand travelled in a circular motion as the effect continued until there were five eggs of descending size on the table, looking like a row of little white Matryoshka dolls.

"Amazing, Mr. Potter." Professor Marchbanks walked over to the table and and examined the eggs, fingering them to see what spells were cast. Let's see: that must have been a Vanishing Spell to get rid of the contents of the egg; a precise Shrinking Charm done in conjunction with a Doubling Charm to duplicate the egg, while at the same time reducing its size." Harry smiled, awkwardly.

She studied the eggs in admiration for a while, before speaking again. "It seems as if you've hidden much of your skill during our first encounter, Mr. Potter. You are clearly your parents' child. How about a Growth Charm and a Color Change Charm? You seemed to have trouble with the two the last time."

"Sure." Harry waved his wand again. He was practiced at the Color Change Charm, the Order would use it to enchant objects in rooms to indicate danger. That enchantment involved long-term Color Change Charms that would switch the color of the candles between dark grey and white, which was barely noticeable even to the trained eye. It was a useful maneuver that Dumbledore invented. Again, Harry pointed his wand at the egg, and slowly lifted it up, expanding the size of the smallest egg until it as big as a basketball. The egg knocked down all the other eggs onto the floor. Harry apologized and vanished them.

"Sorry, forgot..." He then swiped his wand from left to right, counted until three, and swiped it in the air again. The egg turned red, then after a few seconds, blue. Harry continued charming the egg, whispering the incantation: this spell was a little too complex to perform non-verbally. In a minute, the egg was changing into the beautiful colors of the rainbow. Harry made a few alterations to the candle spell, inspired by disco lights.

The examiner, in glee, began walking over to Harry, but he put his hand to tell her to stop. Harry shut his eyes, took a long breath, and then started waving his wand again. But this time he separated the egg into four sections, and enchanted them so that they would each change into a different color every time. The egg was gorgeous, the flames flickering on the torches around the classroom accentuated its colors, its red was vermillion, its green the green of summer trees, and its blue was of the ocean.

Professor Marchbanks clapped her hands in delight. "That was extraordinary. I dare say I haven't seen such mischievous and inventive magic since testing Mr. Black and your father! But I doubt even they had could have cast spells of such complexity."

The Transfiguration exams went on in the same fashion. He walked out of the room feeling quite cheerful, which juxtaposed the attitudes of his two other friends, who had their heads buried in the hands. Ron looked like he was snoring.

"Mr. Longbottom?" The professor called.

Ron shook awake, slurping up his drool, "Huh?" he said. Neville stood up nervously and walked over, giving Harry a shy smile.

"You'll be fine, Neville!" Harry grinned, slapping his back. As Neville entered the room, and Ron began sleeping again, Harry's smile faded with the memory of Neville's death. He killed himself when Bellatrix drove Luna insane the same way she did his parents. Jesus. He couldn't let that happen again.

Hermione had already returned to the Gryffindor dormitories. So, Harry followed suit, walking slowly, soaking in the familiarity of the halls. He arrived at the Common Room, and saw Hermione sitting down and looking into the fireplace.

"Hey Hermione."

"Hi Harry, how did your exam go?" She replied.

"It went well for everything but for History...I think I might have failed."

"But we've been studying for it for weeks!" She said.

"Yeah, I guess my mind just went blank."

Hermione sat still on the velvet couch. "Hermione? Why are you still up?".

Without turning to Harry, she replied. "I can't sleep."

"Is something wrong?". Harry walked towards her.

"Nothing important". He found a place beside where she was sitting and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione turned to face Harry, her cheeks was puffy and her eyes were bloodshot. She had been crying. "I'm just worried about the future. I mean, with Voldemort being back. We're at war now, aren't we?"

It took a moment for her words to sink in. The fire crackled on, while a chill circulated through the room. He grimaced and said. "I guess we are." She was looking for comfort, which he couldn't give to her, because he had seen the future, and he knew it was bleak. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.

"I'm just worried about everyone getting hurt."

With her eyes locked on the floor, she continued. "I'm sorry, I'm sitting here crying, and not even thinking about your feelings. Voldemort's already taken so much away from you."

Those words spurred him, and he stopped her. "No, Hermione, I won't let him take anyone again. I promise you." She looked up to give him a hopeful smile. But it was lost, because Harry had already left the room, too overcome with emotion to continue the conversation. He rushed up the stairs, found his bed, and sat in the darkness, trying to clear his mind, hoping that sleep would come.


	6. Chapter 6

The sounds of the fifth year students sleep, their breathing and lip smacking, became ambient noises which gave him peace of mind. Harry's insomnia soon grew to frustrate him, however. His friends had all entered their own fantastical dreams, but his own sleep never came. After more time, Neville and Ron entered the room and found their beds. Sleep came easier to the two, and soon Harry could hear Ron's familiar snoring.

There was so much expectation and pressure on his shoulders. He felt the weight of the world. If he didn't alter this timeline, if he failed to change the past, then everything would turn back into the ghoulish nightmare that he had just escaped. Today was a good day, the first in many years, but he knew it wasn't his prerogative to feel peace, or love, or anything bright. He was cast in a role that called for a cold focus; all his emotions, his 'feelings', were inimical. There was no room for error because everything was at stake.

Harry's heart pulsated at an unnatural pace as he waited for the sun to come up. After an hour or two later (he couldn't really tell because the clouds kept the moon hidden and the night was as still as ever) he stood up quietly and walked to the adjacent window to look out into the grounds. There was nothing but black. He had nowhere to be and thus kept up his gaze. Eventually, the overcast dispersed into wispy mare's tails, so that the moonbeams penetrated them and illuminated the room. There was enough light that Harry could just make out the minutiae of his friends' faces. There would be time when everything was over when he could relax again. He went back to his bed and laid underneath the covers, listening to the quiet, until dawn broke.

The next few days were much less cheerful than his first. Harry was withdrawn from his friends and didn't spend time with them. The only interactions he had with them were before and after their examinations. His friends were concerned for him, but weren't sure how to approach him, and thus left him to brood. Hermione was especially worried. She was growing confused at the transformation in their friendship. At first Harry flirted with her, she was sure because she looked it up in a book, but now he refused to converse with her, replying to her greetings with only with vague and polite responses. It wasn't as if she didn't like him back. She was just so unused to seeing Harry in a romantic light: thinking about it made her feel warm and her pulse quicken, but what if they got together and it didn't work out, she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to treat him the way she used to. Also, she knew that Ron had feelings for her, and wasn't sure how he'd react to her and Harry suddenly going out. What was she thinking...obviously Harry didn't like her enough or he'd be talking to her more. She scolded herself for being presumptuous.

The term ended with a feast, but Dumbledore was still no where in sight. On Harry's way to the Hogwarts Express, the headmaster finally made an appearance. He greeted Ron and Hermione with a smile as Harry made his way to speak to him.

"Harry, how are you?" Albus asked.

"As well as can be expected. How goes the hunt for...uh, items?" Harry responded curtly.

"I've destroyed two so far, without any injury to myself, if I may add. Perhaps we could start the hunt for the next item soon?" Dumbledore said with some pride.

"Yes, as soon as possible."

"I'm thinking some time into the summer, Harry. For now, I would really prefer for you to spend some time with your family." Dumbledore replied.

"Of course. Thank you, Albus."

"I know how difficult it must be to adjust back to ordinary life, but it always helps to remember what we are fighting for." Dumbledore finished. He gave Harry a hug and left the platform to return to the school.

Harry entered the train which was just about to leave, looking for his friends at first, before realising that they had prefect duties. He found the compartment where Luna, Neville, and Ginny were sitting, and knocked before entering.

"May I join you three?" Harry asked. Ginny gave him an amused look and responded.

"Of course, Harry. We're friends remember?" He thought about how he and Ginny used to date, before they broke up when they couldn't stop arguing. Ah, the trivial whims of youth. He never had a real connection with Ginny, but she was a great, loyal friend to him. Harry sat beside Neville, who was busy examining a potted plant.

"Hey Neville." He greeted.

"Yeah, uh, hey Harry." Neville responded absentmindedly.

"Oh, and hey Luna, how's the new edition of the Quibbler?"

"Hi Harry, how are you. It's very interesting, up to its usual standards. This issue is covering the vampirism of Rufus Scrimageour. He's apparently the next in line for the Minister of Magic position." The train bustled along; there was a scenery of trees; then a view of a large lake; and soon the sky turned from a blueish white into red. The four friends resumed conversation every so often, until their mood for talk was spent and they left each other alone to rest, and contemplate the coming summer.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters soon came into view. Harry received an owl from Sirius a few days ago about his intent on picking him up. From inside the compartment, Harry bade goodbye to his friends, watching each of them leave, one after the other. He told them he had business in the train that he had to attend to, and to give his regards to their families. Harry could see the Weasleys exchanging hugs and felt a familiar envy gather in his chest, but also a rush of relief and happiness that the family was together again. Soon, Hermione followed in exit, and found her parents. She gave him an intense look over the shoulders of her mother, whom she was hugging, locking her eyes with his for some time, before turning away to speak with her parents. Usually, Harry, despite feeling like an intruder in these interactions, would join the Weasleys and the Grangers, catching up with them. This time, he wasn't sure if he could handle the emotions he knew would arise if was to see so many of his dead friends again. So he decided to stay in the train, and not bother people with his presence. He was sure that he would bring unwanted attention considering his current reputation.

After the sun had fully set, and he saw that both families had left, and the platform was clearing out, Harry left the train to find his godfather. In his many years exiting the train he had never had someone he loved waiting for him, waiting to bring him home. It was such an exhilarating experience. Despite his recognition that this was one of the smallest pleasures of most people's lives, as a veteran of tumultuous war and an orphan, it meant so much to him: to walk out of the train to see a great black dog sitting patiently, one whose tail began to wag as its dark eyes found Harry.

Harry walked over and stroked the black dog, whose eyes purred in content. The two of them set off together, with Sirius leading the way. He brought Harry to an empty room, where he transformed back into his human form, before hugging Harry tightly. "

Ready to come home, Harry?" He smiled his charming grin. And like that, with the handsome, skinny man's arm on his shoulder, the two of them apparated away.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I took a course on War and one of the things that caught me was how so many veterans smoke, for some sign of normalcy, and or stability, in an otherwise chaotic and violent battlefield. Tried to insert that a little bit here.**

**For people here for the romance portions with Fleur. They're coming, I just wanted to make their meeting a little bit more organic, so in, I think, two more chapters she's going to show up. **

"Well this is home." Sirius twisted the doorknob and flung open the door, and leading Harry down the moody corridor. As they walked down the hallway, there began a series of familiar, but still jarring screams coming from the portrait of Sirius' mother.

"Half-blood scum, in my house!" She wailed.

"Shut up you old cow." Sirius responded, lazily, before pulling down the canvas to muffle her screeching.

With the screaming now barely audible, Harry, with Sirius' assistance, brought his heavy trunk and Hedwig's cage up the stairs into a room.

"You'll be sleeping in here, if that's ok. It's the guest room. I doubt you'd enjoy dear mother's or dear Regulus' room." Sirius grinned.

Harry looked around the room. It was a bit stuffy - morsels of dust were illuminated by the light, and there was a stale scent that lingered in the room, like that of an old bookstore. An armoire was positioned on the right, and an oaken desk against the wall, underneath a large window panelled window. Parallel to the desk, a large bed sat in the middle of the room with black sheets dotted with silver and two pillows with matching casings propped neatly against the bed frame. Although the colors were slightly reminiscent of the hues found on the beds of sordid motels, Harry found the room to be cosy, if not bland.

But he liked it that way. Staying in new rooms always felt to Harry as if one he were intruding upon another person's world, trespassing on someone else's privacy, on their space. In a way he felt like the previous owner haunted the place. Rooms, after all, were sanctuaries, where people have their most private moments, where they acted without inhibitions, and where they succumb to their purest vices, desires and thoughts. They are almost tangible expressions of a person's identity.

But with a room like this one, a blank slate, Harry imagined he could paint the room with whatever colors he liked - carte blanche, perhaps even carving out identity that could, not forget - never forget, but at the very least, accept the past, and hope for the present.

Cars drove by and flashes of yellow from the headlights broke the silence.

"I did a bit of cleaning up before you came. It's still a little dusty in here, so you can open a window if you'd like. We can always redecorate." Sirius stated, in an uncharacteristic shy mutter. He would have preferred for Harry to have somewhere better to sleep, somewhere flashy, with Gryffindor colors. There were years of absence he wanted to make up for, and so he was hoping that his godson wouldn't mind the dullness before them. With his peripherals, he watched for a reaction, in mild trepidation, though he'd never admit.

"It's wonderful, Sirius, thank you so much." Harry smiled at this godfather and hugged him. Sirius was satisfied, and chuckled with happiness.

"You go ahead and unpack. I'll be in the kitchen downstairs." With a wink, he suavely sauntered down the steps. As Harry listened to him leaving, he heard Sirius shout.

"You go to hell, mother."

Harry unpacked his possessions, slowly, and as time pulled forwards - twenty odd minutes had passed, he noticed he was finished, and he also noticed that some music playing, and that there was something cooking. Dragging his trunk beside the armoire, and placing a few pellets of food on the tray for the sleeping Hedwig, Harry exited to room to head down the steps.

"Mmm, smells wonderful, what are you cooking?" Harry said excitedly.

Sirius was beside the stove stirring a creamy mixture. "It's risotto, ever have it before?" He was wearing an apron. Harry smiled at how out of place Sirius looked. He never really imagined his godfather to be the type of person who cooks. Thinking back now, he realised how little actually knew about his godfather, after all, they had only had a relationship for so many years before he died.

Harry shook his head. "Nope, they've never served it at the Hogwarts feast."

"That's cause they only serve English foods there, I think. Anyway, you'll like it, it's delicious and I'm a pretty amazing cook." Sirius smiled, cheekily, the man really had very little humility

"I'll be the judge of that." Harry sat down on one of the chairs. Sirius had already prepared the table, there was a candlewick burning in the center. The music that played from the gramophone was mesmerizing.

"What is this? It's nice." Harry asked, listening intently.

"It's Roy Buchanon, your father loved him as well. Greatest guitarist that's ever lived." Sirius stopped stirring. "Wait, here it comes."

The guitar reached a climax, and the drums kicked in, Sirius air guitarred, singing along to the solo in a nasally falsetto. In that motion, Harry saw the famously charming wizard that Sirius was fabled to be, not the depressed shut-in that he knew so long ago.

A sizzling noise brought Sirius back to reality. "Oh shit I forgot to stir. Sorry, Harry, I'll give you a performance after I'm done." He poured more mushroom stock into the arborio rice, and stirred for a few more minutes. Minutes of agonizing wait continued, ameliorated somewhat by Roy Buchanon's guitar, which sounded almost like a violin. Harry tapped his fingers and read the Prophet as he waited. More Chosen One drivel. He knew had to start planning how he was going to galvanize the people, but he was avoiding it, forgetting it in order to live in the present.

"Ok we're done." Sirius brought his pan over and scooped some risotto onto Harry's plate and his own. Harry, in excitement, and hunger, began eating, but Sirius stopped him.

"We're not starting until I pop the Merlot." He poured two generous portions of wine onto their glasses, before sitting down.

"Cheers, to the best godson anyone could ever ask for."

They began their meal. Harry drew his spoon into his mouth. The flavor was amazing. He could taste the mushroom, the cheese, the tarragon, all floating in layers of separate but harmonious flavor.

Harry made a face, which Sirius noticed immediately.

"What's wrong with it?" Sirius quickly took another bite.

"It tastes fine to me. Let me try yours." He reached forwards to take a bite out of Harry's plate.

"It's great. What are you making that face for? You don't like it?" Sirius looked downcast.

"I'm just messing with you. It's delicious. You're way too serious." Harry laughed. Sirius' grimace turned into a smile and he began laughing too.

"You're becoming more and more like James, my boy." He gestured to the wine glass.

"Now try the wine. I used to get pissed with your father in the dormitories. Let's see if you've inherited his taste for alcohol. Wine's a bit of an acquired taste, so don't be worried if you don't like it straight away."

"I've had wine before, Sirius. I'm not ten." Harry sipped his Merlot. There were men and women that drank ostensibly to escape from sorrow, but really did it only to intensify their woe, to help them come to terms with their issues. Harry was never one of those people. He drank a lot in the future, but never when he was sad - he was no Arthur Weasley. Scattered along his road of miseries were a few victories as well, and Harry grew accustomed to seeing alcohol as a celebratory drink, an amenity that gave reward and hope for a brighter day.

In great cheer, and escalating volume, Sirius and Harry continued their meals, like long lost friends finally reunited from separate ends of the earth.

"So, Prongs and I ran away, and we left Moony there to take the fall for us." Sirius gasped with laughter, a drunken hue of red on his cheeks, and struggled to finish his story. "You should have seen his face. The werewolf was in this absolutely irate mood for being blamed for setting the entire classes' papers on fire during the middle of the exam."

Harry roared with laughter. "I can't believe you lads got up to such crazy antics. I've never done anything even close."

"They were good times. Good days. The glory days. Speaking of glory days, have you ever heard Springsteen before?"

"Nope, any good?"

"I'll put some on." Sirius flicked his wand, and the new record replaced the one on the vinyl player, and Born in The U.S.A. began to play.

"Bloody hell, that's a catchy sound. More wine?" Harry asked, not bothering to wait for a response, flicking his wine to levitate their fourth bottle of wine, pouring it into their glasses.

Sirius stood up holding his glass, took a long draught, before beginning to bellow. "Sent me off to a foreign land. To go and kill, the yellow man!" Harry stood up as well, and began dancing, twisting on the spot. Sirius followed suit, all notions of propriety deserted.

"Lily would kill me for doing this. God bless her. But I'm itching for a fag. Would you like one, by any chance?" Sirius asked, as he continued an aggressive waltz with Harry.

"Hell yeah. I've been meaning to ask if you have any."

"I don't have any in the house, but that's why we're wizards, right?"

"Magic! Yeah! Would you like to do the honors?"

"I would very, *hiccup, much like to. But before I do, let's give a moment of thanks to the unsuspecting suckers we're stealing from." Sirius brought his left hand to his heart and shut his eyes. Several seconds ensued.

"Sirius? Did you pass out?" Harry poked.

"No. I was giving thanks!" Sirius raised his wand. "Accio Drum tobacco! Accio Rizla paper! Accio cigarette filters!"

The smoking materials flew in through the drafty window.

"I'm a little too tipsy to roll, mind helping me out Harry?"

"I haven't rolled in forever, though." Harry complained, sitting down and beginning the dreaded process of drunk rolling.

"That's what they all say!" Sirius laughed, before frowning in mock seriousness at Harry.

"Wait, as your godfather I need to reprimand you for even knowing how to roll. Bad Harry!"

"I'm sorry, Sirius." Harry looked up with large, tearful eyes.

Unable to continue the masquerade, they both started laughing again.

The rolls were complete, and Sirius raised his wand to light up. "Sirius, uh, I. Wait. Ok I've got it. Don't use your wand, you might burn your face off." In his inebriated state, Harry stumbled over his thoughts.

"Nice thinking, my boy." Sirius swayed over to the sink to retrieve some matches, then made his way back to Harry, a steady quick flick later he lit both of their cigarettes.

The smoke whirled around the room in white swirls that vanished into a grey fog. "Nothing like a cigarette when you're plastered." Sirius observed. The feeling was blissful, and even though Harry's head was spinning, he could appreciate the sensations spreading throughout his body. He shut his eyes to enjoy the music and to relax, just for a little while. The song Dancing in the Dark was playing now, a lulling break from the grittier songs on Springsteen's album.

Sirius was singing along. "Can't start a fire, can't start a fire without a broken a heart. This gun's for hire. Even if we're just dancing in the dark"

But Sirius didn't pick up the next verse. Harry opened his eyes, wondering if his godfather had fallen asleep. But Sirius wasn't asleep, he eyes were watery and red. He was crying. "Your parents loved this song. I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save them."

He looked towards Harry with the utmost shame, his voice shaky, and his eyes barely open.

"You tried, Sirius. You're my only family left. Don't even start to blame yourself. I've failed so many people, you can't even imagine how it feels. You don't know how many people have died because I wasn't cautious. You died because of me once." Harry looked down, pausing to take a puff from his cigarette.

Sirius had fallen asleep, the dead bud of the cigarette had slipped from his fingers and landed on top of the tabletop. It wasn't time yet to tell Sirius who he really was. He had the entire summer to do that.

Harry lifted Sirius onto his back and brought him up the stairs. Thankfully, his witch of a mother was sound asleep as well. He brought Sirius into his room and put him on the bed, covering him up with the comforter.

"Goodnight, Sirius." Harry left the room and went into his, finding sleep nearly as soon as he laid down.

**A/N:**** Also, I know some dates/years might be wrong, you'll catch it if you know what I'm talking about. So don't huff too much! The album worked too well for me to keep the years in check. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews. Fleur is coming very soon, everyone. I've already written her entrance. Two more chapters... Just so you know the plot is moving rather slowly right now. I'm speeding it up next chapter. At some point it's going to speed up without stopping, this is the calm before the less calm parts of the story. **

**To Ernest Rutherford: Harry is telling people he is from the future because I think it introduces something new that I haven't read often in Time Travel fics. Besides, this story isn't going to be about him secretly being awesome and doing stuff - where's the character development in that? I'm attempting to carve a new narrative, in the likeness of Hiro in Heroes or Kitty Pryde. I've sort of given Voldemort and his people a bit of a boost, and I think it makes sense that people need to be aware immediately of what is coming. **

**To Aragorn390: I wrote the OWL exam several months ago, at the time I wanted Harry to be gifted and to give him a chance to show that off. And yeah I really hit a brick wall with it - you can tell by how ungracefully it transitions into the rest of the story. **

Morning broke, and Harry's head was hurting terribly. He was woken up rudely by sharp raps from outside his door.

"Harry, someone's here to see you. And don't wake me up again or you're dead." A voice shouted. Sirius glared at their visitor, who had her eyes glued to the floor.

"Sorry, Sirius." She said, frightened.

His door opened, and Hermione walked in, closing the door behind her in a smooth motion. Oh no, Harry thought to himself, why did she have to show up now? "Harry, I think Sirius is hungover."

Harry coughed, rubbing his eyes while remaining prostate on the bed. "Yeah, I think I heard him drinking last night." He was still in that nebulous state that one wakes up into, where the world is unreal and everything a cloudy haze. He hid himself under the comforter.

Hermione drew open the curtains to the room. "It's about time you got up, Harry, it's already twelve. I assumed you'd be awake when I came over." She said sternly.

"I'll get up in five minutes, just let me rest for a little longer." Harry droned, his voice gritty with the cadence of an older man.

"Is that alcohol I smell on your breath? Harry, are you hung over." Harry lazily opened one of his eyes and saw that Hermione was sitting right in front of him. The sun was too bright though, and so he shut his eye again.

"I only had a sip. I'm fine. It was just a late night."

"Your teeth are purple."

"No they're not."

"Yes, they are."

"Ok, maybe they are."

"I'll wait here while you take a shower and brush your teeth."

"Who said that I'm going to take a shower."

"I'm waiting here while you take a shower. I don't want you smelling like tobacco and alcohol."

Harry, irritable, threw his sheets to the side, and left the room. He took a shower and scrubbed his teeth. The bathroom itself was luxurious with a spacious shower that was at least four metres in length. The floor tiles were marble with rags of brown on an otherwise white surface. Harry cleaned and groomed himself, making sure that his hair wasn't as messy as usual, before dabbing some of the aftershave from the indigo bottle in the mirror cabinet onto the base of his neck.

As he walked out of the bathroom and back into his room, Harry noticed that, on his desk, there were three eggs for him, with their yolky centres looking unappetisingly dry. The plate of eggs was next to a jug of water and a glass cup. Hermione was sitting on his bed, flipping through one of his school textbooks.

"Thanks for cooking." Harry said, cooly.

"It's alright. Whenever my parents have too much to drink I do the same for them as well."

He sat down on his chair and dug into his eggs ferociously. Half-way through his food, he looked up and asked.

"Have you eaten anything yet, Hermione?"

"Yes, I've had my breakfast." Hermione made a sniffing expression. "What's that smell?"

"Harry, are you wearing cologne?" She asked.

"Um...No? It's my shampoo." He gave a half-hearted chuckle, and quickly continued. "So how was seeing your parents, again?"

"It was alright. Mom and Dad are rather worried about the coming school year. They don't fully understand what the return of You-Know-Who means, but they can definitely sense that something is wrong in the wizarding world." Hermione said. "Will you tell me what you and Dumbledore have been discussing?"

Harry turned to Hermione sullenly, and began to explain how Voldemort was able to survive the rebounding Killing curse.

"So these Horcruxes, do we know where to find them?" Hermione began nervously.

"Yes. Albus and I have already found a few. We're looking for the rest this summer." Harry said, stoically.

"Why are you going with him? Isn't this sort of thing too dangerous for a student?"

"I'm not an ordinary student."

"But it's not life threatening, is it? These retrieval missions. I mean, you couldn't possibly get hurt from one of them. Dumbledore would be with you. And once we acquire the Horcruxes, and destroy them, Voldemort would be destroyed in the process too, right?"

He wouldn't look at Hermione, his face a dissonant contortion with inklings of shame, and a stroke of sadness.

"No. It gives us the ability to destroy Voldemort, if we so succeed. But he would still have all his other resources - his people, his powers. The destruction of the Horcruxes would be the prologue to the main act."

Hermione was frightened. "Are you saying we're going to have to fight a war?"

"There isn't an alternative, Hermione." Harry stated, fixating his eyes on Hermione's. His opaque eyes dug into her. She felt as if she was being dissected by his gaze.

"Come on, let's go out of here." Harry said. Spaces have their own temperaments sometimes, and it does good to change locations when one has become spent.

Hermione followed him out of the room, and out of Grimmauld Place. They walked together out into the streets.

The sun was muted by a gloomy overcast. Buses and cars bustled away, whooshing through the streets. They continued their walk into a park, where they sat down on a mouldy bench in front of a lake. A tall tree with veins of branches swayed as a breeze rustled its leaves.

"Harry. Can I talk to you about something?" She had been silent on the way over.

"Anything. What's on your mind?" Harry asked.

"I think we've been venturing into the not-just friends area for a while now."

Harry blushed, he had seen this coming, but wasn't sure how he was going to react.

"I suppose so."

"I just wanted to say that. I don't think it's a good idea."

His heart sank, no, his stomach sank. He had never considered that Hermione wouldn't feel the same way. But maybe it was just timing, maybe she was afraid that they wouldn't have a future because of Voldemort.

"What do you mean?" He blurted.

"I don't know if I could do that to our friendship. I mean, you're like a brother to me, Harry."

"A brother? But you've been acting all weird as well."

"I know, but it's not only about my feelings, isn't it? We really shouldn't do this."

"So you don't want anything more but to be just friends?"

"Yes."

"But...but we haven't even given it a shot."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

* * *

Knocks on the door. Urgent, frustrated knocks.

"Harry, you've been hold up in there for long enough. It's been a week. What's wrong?"

Harry continued to brood in silence. Little crushes make even the most difficult tasks seem bearable. Until now, Hermione was the variable that engendered his dreams for a future - having them ripped away drove him deep into himself. The girl he wanted, the girl he pined after for so long - all through these years, didn't feel the same way about him. What a fantastic irony. He travelled through time to see her and she didn't feel the same way about him. Just friends. It felt as if the door he opened by traveling back had been shut, transformed into a vacuum that sucked away his dreams of the future that were still so tender in their nascent state. He was beginning to heal, he thought, but now there was nothing he could see ahead of him but darkness.

"Harry. I'm coming in." Sirius opened the door and stepped inside. The room smelled dank, the lights were off and the curtains were shut. A musty flavor surrounded the room, no windows had been open for a while. Sirius approached the bed and sat down, Harry was lying on his side, facing opposite the door. He clutched Harry's shoulder, a rough but comforting gesture.

"What's up, Harry?"

"Go away." Harry was embarrassed that - of all things, it was a girl that put him down.

"Just tell me."

"I liked a girl, she didn't like me back, it's as simple as that."

Sirius scratched his head. It's always about a girl.

"Rejection sucks, Harry." He paused. "Who was it?"

"Hermione."

"I see."

Sirius had seen James in the same mood before, years and years ago. He wasn't sure what he needed to say then, and didn't know what to say now. Sharing in the blues and commiseration only soothe the soul in such small ways. Sirius knew he lacked the constitution for comforting this particular brand of misery, after all, he had never placed much importance on his love life. All he knew to do was to be there for his godson, and to try and maintain a sense of routine and normalcy for him.

* * *

The next few days passed by without incident. Sirius would talk to Harry, though he would rarely reply. He would bring meals up to Harry's room and eat with him, often in silence. His godson had become something of a shut in. Slowly, though, after the passing of the week, Harry recovered, until he had enough to come down for meals.

While Sirius was doing the cleaning up after a loveless dinner, and while Harry was in his room, Sirius heard a knock on the door. Still wearing an apron, he sauntered over to open it. A raggedly looking man stood on the doorstep with his left hand holding a suitcase, his face wearied and haggard as if he had just a brush with death. The hallway was bright with the lightbulb leering. Each of the wooden panels beneath their feet creaked as the man entered.

"Padfoot, are you well?" The man smiled tiredly at Sirius

"I'm good. Harry's in a bit of rut though. Girl problems." Sirius winked with a grimace, and extended his hand to welcome his friend in.

"Oh. Where is he?" Lupin asked, as the two companions walked down the hallway.

"He's in his room right now, you should talk to him." Sirius gestured upwards.

"What should I say, though?" Lupin said.

"Whatever you told James back then. I don't know. Moony, you know I'm not good with this stuff." Sirius shrugged. Remus was always the one who knew what to say. Sirius was the friend with whom one conspired with - he was the bringer of cheer, but to adroitly temper the blues, that was a task much more suited to the werewolf's acumen.

Lupin dropped his suitcase in the hallway, and climbed up the stairs. He came back down after realising he didn't know Harry's room was.

"It's the second on the right."

"Right."

Back on the second floor, Lupin straightened his jacket, rubbing the dust of his shoulders, clearing his throat. In the recesses of his mind, Remus felt a grim sense of fascination at the task before him. Lily and James were gone, but he and Sirius were still here; he wondered if this was the beginnings of an aberrantly functional family.

"Harry, can I come in?"

The door opened magically.

"How are you, Harry?"

"I'm alright." Harry got up from his chair, where he was reading on spells. Harry gazed upwards at his visitor, he had thought it was only Sirius. Seeing Lupin there, his eyes flashed with life for the first time in days. Somehow, when distant loved ones (Harry considered Lupin to be a member of that number) appear during times of sorrow, they act as a sort of knock from reality, bringing new light to an otherwise shadowy routine. Harry stood up to embrace him.

Over his shoulder, Lupin spoke gently to Harry, trying to assuage his mood. "I know it's hard right now, but don't let it go you down. It's just a girl. Don't forget you still have people that love you."

Remus was right, of course, but to Harry it wasn't merely losing Hermione that was ailing him; it was also that he had lost his escape from reality. It was a dimly lit path that Harry came back in time to traverse, one where the destination itself wasn't even certain. He felt like Hermione had deserted him to a lonely fate.

Sirius appeared at the door way, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame. "You're the Boy Who Lived. There are hundreds of girls who would jump at their feet to be with you."

"He's right, Harry. Don't let one girl get you down." Remus patted Harry's shoulder.

"I know. I know. It's just. It's really hard. I've liked her for a long time."

Harry looked sadly at the floor.

"We should get out of the house." Sirius said, cheerfully. "I've been cleared off my charges." He beamed, giving his two friends the thumbs up.

"That's a good idea. Harry, will you at least give us that?" Lupin asked. Sirius was always good at the fun stuff.

"Maybe."

Harry was anxious about leaving the house. For him, it was symbolically tantamount to stepping back onto the road to war. He was safe as long as his heartbreak was real. But although he had found comfort in his fantasies, he also knew that they were only illusory. Hermione and him had nearly nothing in common at this point. Besides, he was much too old for her.

His nightmares had altogether faded into oblivion, replaced by a new tenant. It was now fantasy that occupied his mind. In his dreams he found himself and Hermione together, the fitting parts of their gardens in tawdry disgrace.

But waking up now replaced his nightmares as a source of pain - to look around and see that nothing he saw in dreamworld was real, that those figures and impressions never were, and never would be. The experience sent tendrils of sorrow that wrapped around and strangled his heart. His mind was always stormy, inundated with longing for a period, before being flushed by rejection in another - his psyche oscillating between the two extremes, trapping him in an immutable procrastination.

"I know a nice pub near by."

"Let's go."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks for all the positive reception - and for the negative, which may be brutal, but really does point out some of the weaker points of the story. Keep in mind if some of the narrative seems choppy, inconsistent, or anything, this is my first story, and I'm still learning the ropes. If anyone is interested in helping me edit or teaching me more about how to tell a story, please PM me, I'm working hard to improve. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

The three men walked along the concrete pavement, from streetlight to streetlight. The two Marauders walked close enough to brush arms, while Harry trailed after them. Both of them had attempted to include him, but Harry was reluctant to speak. It was enough that they got him out. He didn't have to converse with them.

As a quarter of an hour passed, Harry, having not much to do, began to observe the very different gaits of Sirius and Lupin. While Sirius walked with an air of bumptiousness, with his steps flashy and relaxed, Lupin, on the other hand, seemed nearly to sidle; his footsteps staccato in rhythm - strained movements involving the entire body.

He eavesdropped on their conversation. Sirius and Lupin were discussing Order business as they walked. Lupin's identity had been revealed during the battle at the Department of Mysteries, and he was no longer able to maintain his cover with the werewolves, who had declared support for the Dark Lord. He was coming now to live with Harry and Sirius. In a few days there would be a meeting at headquarters, where the group would decide their next course of action. Along with the preexisting members of the Order, some new faces were due to arrive.

The night air was nippy and there were spurts of drizzle that weren't heavy enough to make the three wet, but enough to be irritating - licks of moisture tickling the arms, and blurring the lashes.

They finally reached their destination and stepped into the bar. There were tens of people inside, bluegrass music played rhythmically. The walls were panelled with dark wood, and there was a fetid miasma of alcohol and tobacco. A server guided them to a booth where they ordered ale and chips.

As the three began their meal, they noticed something strange. There were people staring at them. On a table in the centre of the room, two men, one tall with sunglasses, the other clumsily built with a brown duster, continuously made eye contact with them. They looked dangerous. Remus was the first one to spot the two, and he nudged Sirius, who was sitting ons his left, to make him aware of possible enemies.

The mood had shifted, and an urgent energy filled the room. The two strangers ate their meals in silence before paying their bill and standing up, walking over to Harry's table.

"Mates, I think we have trouble." Sirius warned, sipping in his ale, his right arm swiftly reaching under the table for his wand.

Sirius and Lupin looked up, catching their glances and glaring back. Harry, still deep in his thoughts, rubbed his head in frustration, accidentally revealing his scar.

"It's him! It's him!" The tall man shouted.

Lupin stood up, and without warning, lifted his wand and stunned the man. Sirius took to action as well, and threw curses at the man with the brown jacket. People screamed. The tables and chairs surrounding them flipped over. A chaotic rush of fear flew through the room. The other Death Eater was trying to get away. Sirius dropped to the floor and lifted the sleeve of the stunned man.

"The Dark Mark. We need to leave now." The combat exhilarated Harry, suddenly he could focus again, he knew he had to stop the man before he fled.

"Harry, go!" Sirius shouted.

Harry stood up on his table and jumped over the multiple booths, chasing the man who was running out the exit.

They were out on the street now, Harry threw a barrage of red spells at the escaping Death Eater, who scrambled and dived to dodge. Harry kept up a relentless assault, but he was too slow; as his spell finally hit his enemy, his foe, half laying on the floor, was already limply pointing at the firmament, and the Dark Mark hovered over the sky. They were coming.

Harry needed to assess the battlefield, and quickly too. The street was tightly packed with buildings, there wasn't much space for actual combat. Direct conflict was not an option. He scanned the area for whatever angles might be used to their advantage. He jogged over to the opposite building which had a red door, it was one with only a small hallway on the first floor, which led to a staircase - there was no vantage point here. He looked around the corners of the street before going around the block, there was also a back door from which they could escape.

He ran back into the pub into a frantic sight. Sirius and Lupin were trying to calm people down. There was panic, people flailing about hysterically, screaming, and others ready to face down the three wizards in combat.

Pointing his wand to his throat, and stepping on top of a table, Harry began. "Everybody calm down!" The room fell silent. "We need you to leave through the back entrance in an orderly fashion."

Turning to his side, he relaxed his wand and gestured for Lupin and Sirius to come closer. "Lupin, you help evacuate the customers, if they refuse to be Obliviated, you know what to do. The exit should be over there. Sirius, I need to you to come with me."

His two friends were confused at the change in Harry, it seemed like the situation had flicked a switch on him. They weren't accustomed to taking orders from him, but the situation's unfamiliarity encouraged them to follow him. The Muggles too, hearing a voice of authority, began to calm down, somewhat. The evacuation began, Lupin hurried over to the exit, guiding the confused Muggles away. They were making foul noises and rabbling in panic and fright, but the werewolf did his best to assure them that everything was alright.

"Sirius, we need to make a choice now, either we run or we fight. How quickly can the other members arrive?"

"It's going to take at least twenty minutes. We'll need to hold them off until then. Do you think the Dark Lord will come?"

"He won't, there isn't a big enough audience, and he's still afraid of facing me, considering the Priori Incantatum."

"What should we do?"

Harry pointed his wand slowly at each of the panel windows, the blinds closed in succeeding fashion.

"We don't need assistance. I'll think of something. This could be a good moment to send a message."

Lupin came back into the room.

"The Muggles are gone, what's the plan, Sirius?" Remus had regained his composure, somewhat, and was now thinking only of protecting the Chosen One. "Harry, we need to get you out of here."

"Lupin, there isn't any time to argue. We're staying. Just let me think of something, we only have a few more minutes before they come." Harry went to sit in his booth, offhandedly finishing his ale.

"We should just apparate away. We don't have to fight them this time. We're hopelessly outnumbered." Lupin complained to Sirius.

Harry responded. "Lupin. The Death Eaters have had the upper hand until now. We need to fight back and not just wait passively. The last time...I mean, just trust me. It's war. We're not letting them chase us down again."

"Harry, you're still a child. You don't understand the ante. We need to leave, now!"

Harry shot Lupin a dirty look, and started to argue but didn't get far.

Sirius interjected. "I trust Harry. He took on the Dark Lord by himself. I'm about tired of running away from these fuckers, anyway." Although Sirius had some reservations, he had a wild side that wanted to engage in combat.

"They don't know what they're walking into. We can ambush them. We have the home ground." Harry explained, with a smirk.

"Fine. Fine! But I don't like this. If this goes wrong... This is bigger than all of us. Sirius, if we lose Harry, we lose everything."

Harry stood up suddenly, and looked intently around the room. This building had two stories.

"We're going to blast the foundation of this building. Don't ask any questions. After we do, the two of you need to head inside the building opposite this one, it's the one with the red door. Wait for me in the hallway inside. I'll apparate onto the staircase behind you, after I take care of this."

In tacit agreement, the wizards began their work, casting Reducto on the columns at each of the corners, at their weak points. In moments, the corners became shoddy and began to near a state of collapse.

Lupin attempted to break the last column, the one on the back right. "Wait, not this one. Now go, get out." Harry interrupted.

"Harry, what are you planning?" Sirius asked.

Harry explained his plan.

"Harry, this is a gamble. I can't let you do this alone." Lupin said, worriedly. He couldn't leave Harry. He had a responsibility to his parents.

"None of you can pull this off. Just go. I promise I know what I'm doing." Harry gave a brave smile.

Sirius and Lupin turned to each other, conveying something to each other with that non-verbal communication that only the best of friends can access. Lupin gave Harry a quick hug, but during their embrace, before Harry could react, he got him in a sleeper hold, and began dragging him out of the building.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I can't let you take this risk."

"No! Sirius! It's too dangerous! Lupin let go of me!"

Lupin pulled Harry away, kicking, screaming into the other apartment. Harry was helpless, again.

It was quiet in the pub now. A looming calmness filled the room that felt humid as air does before large storms. Sirius went over to the bar and poured himself some whiskey. He rolled a cigarette and smoked it while he waited, watching the eddies of smoke fill the air of the room - casting a misty fog all over. It had been around five minutes since the Dark Mark was cast. They should be here any second.

Loud popping noises. Four, five, ten, twelve.

"Harry Potter. We know you're in there. We don't have to hurt you. The Dark Lord wants you alive." A voice bellowed.

Sirius shouted in response. "If you promise to leave Harry alone I'll come quietly. But you must let him leave." A noble act - worthy of a Gryffyindor. Would they fall for it?

"Sirius Black. Very well. We promise." A laugh.

The Death Eaters stepped inside. Sirius waited at the back corner of the bar, putting his hands up, his right hand clutching his wand. There were only eight of them, and each was slowly encroaching upon him. He couldn't identify any of them; they were each wearing masks. The other four must have been covering the back entrance, or the front one, probably in duos. The room was dead silent but for the soft thuds of the Death Eater's footsteps. Sirius could hear his small breath pant, his heart beat out of his skin arrhythmically.

"You should have run away with your boy." The leader said, his voice gravelly.

"And you would have caught him." Sirius said, looking submissive.

"Where is he?"

"Not here.

"Stop lying to us you filthy blood-traitor!"

Sirius acted surprised and fearful. "How did you?"

"We know everything."

Downtrodden, and worried, Sirius dramatically glanced at the stairs. "He's probably long gone by now. I fooled you all."

One of the Death Eaters noticed the movement of Sirius' eyes and whispered to their leader something that Sirius couldn't hear.

"He's upstairs isn't it?" Pointing to three of his lackeys, the Death Eater ordered. "You three, go!"

"No! Please. Don't go up there!" Sirius shouted. The man in charge laughed.

"Bellatrix always told me you were a naive little shit."

The other five continued to approach Sirius, cautious for any sudden movements. They were but two meters away, at this point.

"I'm going to kill dear cousin for saying that." Sirius smiled, slowly. "But I'm going to kill you first." Sirius pointed his wand and casted a powerful Reducto at the last column. The building came down in a resounding crash that sounded almost like the thunder on an empty field. It crushed everybody inside.

Another popping noise.

In the opposite building. "Harry, Remus, there are four more Death Eaters out there, I hope you're all ready for a some duelling."

"Thank goodness, you're ok, Sirius." Harry hugged his godfather tightly, "But don't you ever force me to watch while you endanger yourself again." He glared at Sirius. "I'm not being funny."

Harry lazily turned to the door, and pointed his wand at the door and blasted it open.

The three wizards ran into the dark streets outside. In one fell movement, as he was running, Harry hit one of the Death Eaters with a stunning spell before it could turn around. There were still three opponents in front of them, one of whom had turned around to fight. It casted a spell at Remus who conjured a shield charm to defend himself, while Sirius threw stunners in retaliation. The Death Eater was downed. Harry ran to confront the other two but after a short chase, in cowardice, they had apparated away.

"They got away." Harry grumbled, returning to the two, and panting from his sprint. He was too slow, again. They had won.

The three looked forward at the ramshackle ruins of the pub they had just enjoyed their drinks in. They could still see some of the bodies of their downed foes, distinctly pink, buried by the shattered wood. Lupin had conjured ropes to bind the two Death Eaters that they had stunned.

"What do we do with the rubble? Won't the Muggle police suspect something?" Sirius asked. He was anxious to leave before more trouble ensued.

"We leave no evidence. The Dark Lord will have gotten the message." Harry looked solemnly at the wreckage. "You're right, the police will be here soon. We need to go."

Remus and Sirius casted weightlessness charms on the bodies, and took the Death Eaters and slung them over their backs.

"We'll take these two somewhere safe for interrogation. Dumbledore will be thrilled."

Harry took a deep breath and pointed his wand at the rubble - flames came burning from the end of his wand, growing higher and higher as the wooden rubble and carcasses caught fire. Adrenaline pulsed through out his body, making his heart beat ferociously. Staring at the orange flames which brightened the night, feeling the heat crackle on the hairs of his skin while the scent of burning human flesh filled his nose, in those moments, he had forgotten about Hermione, he felt instead a sense of completion, a rush of power,

Lupin looked at him in shock.

"No half-measures."

"I suppose it's necessary." Lupin whispered, still horrified, looking at Sirius worriedly. What had happened to Harry that he would be acting this way?

Sirius clenched his teeth, with little surety in his eyes, aghast at Harry's actions. "They deserved it." The words felt alien to him, was this really what James would have wanted?

The three disapparated.

* * *

At the house, after Remus and Lupin had delivered their captives to Dumbledore, the three wizards sat on the kitchen table, cups of coffee in hand and eyes deep in contemplation.

"Harry, something is different about you." Lupin began.

"He's just growing up, Remus."

"No, I can almost feel it. You've changed for some reason."

"Remus, Sirius. Things have changed. They've been changing ever since Cedric died. I've spent all this time worrying about my future, depending on the two of you, and on Dumbledore. But it's time I took my fate into my own hands. If the Death Eaters were fine with slaughtering my mother and my father." Remus winced. "If the Ministry insists on hiding what has happened. Then we take the fight to them. They chose their fates the moment they took the Dark Mark." Sirius nodded in agreement.

Harry looked at the only two people he could comfortably call family. "They slaughtered your best friend in cold blood. We can't sit idly by while Dumbledore plays his politics. My parents deserve to be avenged."

"But at the cost of this much bloodshed?" Lupin asked, incisively.

"Those Death Eaters that escaped Azkaban. How many years did they spend inside?" Harry asked.

"Fourteen years." Sirius responded. "I was in there with most of them."

"And what happened when Voldemort returned?"

A car rushed by.

"I know they didn't change. But we must be careful with how far down we tread this path of violence. Lest we become the very monsters we are fighting." Lupin admonished, frantically.

"These monsters killed my parents!" Harry shouted, banging his hand on the desk. He glared at Lupin until his mentor looked away. His words, which were once unsure and feeble, now had deliberation. It was magnetising.

Lupin was still hesitant, after all, this was the young boy he saw faint at the very presence of a Dementor. But he trusted Harry with his life, and he thought he would trust him now.

"You're right." Lupin stated. "But what about the two Death Eaters that got away."

"We've dealt a blow to Voldemort's forces. Those two will tell him that we're to be feared," He replied. "If we have to, we'll kill them all."


End file.
